|Rain turns to snow and we remember blue.|
I dream in days, days of photography, a whole day devoted to the struggle of an article, twenty-four hours of going to the post office, paying a bill, cleaning house, cooking dinner.
I dream of nights in escape, a long conversation, how we sat out on the porch.
The news streams into a room on my left and ahead. Blue carpet blocks my view of the door. The place I now claim is the place I was put and boxes are checked, signatures here, there, again. Folders and files and to be shredded. Wear this, say that. Do not have an opinion.
I dream of a day at the beach, the one we had last year and when will we go again.
Sometimes it's good to be still. quiet.
Today I am grateful for a silence, for a balcony, for time to think.