perdita

Feeling better mostly. My arm is sore. Crises are abated for now.

I was walking around outside in a wifebeater today, I felt . . . incongruous and strangely comfortable. Cool brisk October breezes running up my arms in a parking lot with swirling leaves and I'm overwhelmed by their smell. I hate feeling potential and hope because that anchor has sunk into the depths before . . . but perhaps I do.

The sun comes that much closer to setting, I drive home.

And now? Sleep is a rose, as the Persians say.