sea2

Bird watching. Wash the breakfast things and see the birds compete for the seeds and scraps you put out for them. Notice whom for wheels are turning. The wren is back. Winter survival battles played out on my little patch of earth. Avenues all lined with trees, picture me and then you stop watching. These routines make things possible. Wash, rinse, dry, put away. Pessoas como voc, encontram isso fcil. There is a relentless greyness to this time of year; suicide weather, and you think about how easy it must be to take your life if you really need to. My illusion, worn like a mask of self-hate. Collared doves lumber and lie like bait.