•78/ Through winter-wet grass, Pan slips into feline bones, crooked shadow and curling tail, crescent eyes following the path of a boat-shaped moon, a low riding cradle lingering along the cusp of twilight, lowering over rooftops and a diminishing tree line— the blue blur along the neighborhood’s horizon.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Through winter-wet grass—
Between allergies and shifting weather patterns a feeling of paralysis emerges. Last night’s storm left the trees coated with thin layers of ice. Delaying traffic for a few hours longer than normal. For most of the day I procrastinated successfully waiting for Brendan to arrive home. And then half prepared a new project for school. A numb disregard settles within.