Not only did the day's windstorm bring us an interesting array of fallen branches, it also lent the day a quality of light that I remember from thunderstorms that would only last 15 minutes but would, in that time, readjust the landscape. We don't have a lot of extreme weather out here, and I forget how the bottom portions of my brain feel it.
I'm bored of my usual way of projecting how things are, through Pirandello or the extended serpentine curves of Parmagianino, or even through the way the Etruscans used mirrors to spotlight the walls they were painting in the resting places of the entombed. Today I am tired of filtering, and ought to be participating in the tangible--cleaning my apartment, which is full of piles of junk mail and shoes due to my habit of overscheduling, or baking muffins, or mending holes in my clothes.
I am not the builder of bridges that you think I am, but I will take your lack of guidance to mean that you like to be surprised.
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