streaking clear liquid on the screen,
made me realise that it was raining.
if only this machine was as waterpoof or waterloose as i am
i could keep sitting outside

but, so, i shelter on the floor of a glass mezzanine
to access this portal to you,
whoever you, are.
and a security man feining duties as glass cleaner comes to check on me.
and im listening to dirty dirty jazz from white earphones.

A homemade rye sourdough with sunflower and chia seeds,
slow cooked aduki baked beans, the best eggs you can get fried with a squeeze of lemon,
olive oil and freshly picked homegrown greens
and some very beautiful friends to share a celebratory brunch with.

Back in the city and it seems that I am collecting

collecting books to read, and pocketfuls of twine and mandarin skin

ideas 

held fleetingly that seem to make sense for the tiniest amount of time.

I carelessly flick my fingers through the pages of a book and find this line from a poem, which I collect

I stand and listen.

Silence

approaches. A silence approaching music.

David Malouf

Maps stained with sweat and dust, unfolding the creases in my worn hands. I am taking my plans with slow breathing and a quiet reassessment. 

But it all happened so fast and on a spur of a moment and all of a sudden im here again, this might take a little while to get used to.