Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Eleven
Rest day.
Bright, clear, cool morning.
Let’s just keep it peaceful.
Maybe, yes, this makes the most sense.
“Then he’s a warlock.”
The Langoliers.
If we can add a little joy by eating a few blackberries from the bush, then let’s do it.
On the walk back, I realize that what we’ve done is rebelled in the face of what is supposedly “right”, refusing to bend into the appropriate shape of compliance. None of this is real, anyway.
Hot.
Big beautiful moon floating above the Vacas. Phone pics just won’t do it justice.
