morning

the light on the other side of the window has shifted from blue to yellow.

in an hour, i will run.

my long mornings begin to move quickly now.

it stays dark a bit longer: the earth on its axis. seasons shifting around each other. the grapes are dying. the odd resurgence of summer heat as we hit the turn in to autumn.

the harvest this year will be a bad one.

but it is no less beautiful.

and i own no vineyard.

i have the freedom to run through a deep stretch of their winding leaves. the man who owns the land says the bright red NO TRESPASSING signs do not apply to me. he is kind and a gentleman. i take the paths as my own. i sweat.

i have the vultures and crows. they are the deepest, most luxurious black. they shine, perched on the stakes at the ends of the rows. they don't move as i approach and i can feel the pull of their black eyes. eyes so black they become absent. and i can feel the pull of their absent fear. a fluttering non-chalance. regal, unconsumed. other.

big black birds are not daunted by this world. or this girl. i love them for both those reasons and more.




earl grey with honey in my cup.

the light goes on bending.