Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Seventy-One
Wind.
Bits of trees scattered across the pavement and the trail. The sound of the redwoods blowing in the gusts.
118 beats per minute. I’m just drinking water.
Just one paper to go.
She says that she wants to travel over the summer, but she’s afraid they won’t let her back in.
I need more time; there is never enough time.
All of this feels right.
The last of the meetings.
I ought to meditate again.
“Starve doubt.”