Friday, August 12, 2011
fire season and contained fire. everything smells better. the smoke, onion, simmering soup, laundry, an unwashed towel. i'm drinking a cold beer slowly, remembering train stations in lacey, WA, not far from olympia. i felt a beautiful cool breeze come through the three working windows of my buick at wealthy & eastern, a red light around 5 o clock. a slow pitch. no sheets on the bed. a slow pitch. hours of rain. the hard cool morning light in portland, two years now. i am truly happy in the morning, between 7 am and 10. the light is non judgmental and the air is neutral. it's not that i only like being alone, it's that i prefer it to being around anyone who doesn't understand these things. about the morning, i mean.
MP3: "slow pitch"