Interlude: Come Again Another Day

It is raining where I am. It's been raining for the better part of two weeks. To write this is a feeble attempt to cling to sun-melted mornings and an afternoon falling in love with a hammock. Get out the map and lay your finger anywhere down, the Indigo Girls sing, and while I love the rain, today it makes me wish that I can take their advice.

I'm imagining myself understanding the poetry of yellow casitas. The undone tumble of pink flowers. Doors that slide the world shut. Wood that knows how to dance and sleep. Grass that remembers the explorations of transients. Lemon tea. Giant jackstones. Card games and candles on a summer night.




I try not to be too envious of the me two weeks ago. I have my books and a cup of warm milk tea within reach. My bed is warm. I'll be fine.

Thank you, Casa San Pablo, for the advice.