The view from here, right now

Sun pours down through the hills, and it doesn’t feel like a threatening foreshadowing of a new normal tropical oppression in New England. A day for drying out swollen cells, alive and inanimate.
The daily appraisal of the weather frequently teeters along the line that declares when gestures or encounters breach sincerity and turn sinister. A trusty barometer is all I need to glide into each moment without trailing clouds of polluted exhaust in my wake.



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I tend to watch wheels go round and around.