The moon was a drop of white on a wet blue canvas, in yesterday’s evening sky. Briefly catch the mackerel cloud. Then the sun dips through its red finale, fixes our attention utterly.
Dream, all night, of living in a jungle.
Woken by Boy, waving a phone. Girl forgot to text me her shift dates, so I’m supposed to be over with Baby and not hiding from the heat in my bamboo hut. A swift time triage- swig coffee now, wash face later.
It’s cloud forest humid, but without heat. The day passes, hazy as my tired head. The birds sing, the foliage is spring swollen. I remember in the jungle I didn’t have a car but things are barely less simple here.
Baby laughs at Dog spitting out a stone.
Mr puts the espresso pot on the stove.
With no heat to hide from, I stand outside, hearing the song of the canopy.
Comments
best,
MOV