Monday, September 17, 2012


A meal improvised, our monthly get-together, tea-drinking, and I step outside to say goodnight and the breeze, the sound of the crickets, the coming autumnal, I don't want to go anywhere tomorrow, I just want to stay out all night and take a long walk or drive around and have some long absurd conversations approaching the profound. Not sure what brings on these moods of nothing quite blue but something where the memories feel particularly pungent, all these thoughts needing to spill deferred. 

1 comment:

  1. That's why, after inventing songwriting, Brian Wilson invented writing.