More coffee, less sleep!
At 3am, realize I have fumbled this advice.
Also that I have forgotten several birthdays and not posted that anniversary card.
Sometimes I think these words are physical pieces of me and I write more life than I live: they are demon words each dragging a stealthy slice of me and one day there will be only words left.
Some thoughts can be cured by sleep.
Must unfumble that advice.
The wind is a cloud-herd, over fields that have warmed earth smell and curves and busy hedges. Where feet stand is still, vibrantly still.
Is my life all inked out?
Shhh, says the wind: you should sleep.
Where feet stand is thick with flowered cover; the hedge plants run to seed.
Words are flowers. Words are seeds.
Shhh, says the wind.