Blue-Gray Goats Wandering

It has been almost two years since I had my vision checked— consequently at night when reading or writing a major portion of the page falls into a soft blur, a fog of letters merging into different soundings and shapes. Even now my handwriting lapses into hieroglyphics or magical incantations of a nomadic Nordic shaman blessing a flock of goats before a winter storm— my words as the goats that is, small domestic, blue-gray goats wandering a landscape with permafrost, bells on their collars clanking softly in the night as they return to familiar territory—

Halfblinded in this fashion the mind wanders off by itself, free association with phrases and occasional Freudian slips of the tongue. An excuse for not scheduling time at the doctor’s I suppose— creative justification for avoiding the issue.

•12/ One house remains on the block with full Christmas lights bubbling neon throughout the night: perpetual celebration in red and green. —•