On a day off, indulging my love of the dictionary:
Ten days straight of work, and now this soft day
of sleep and quiet play. Listening to Pandora,
a Baguette Quartette station. Ah, lovely stuff.
There's lasagna bubbling in the oven and a chopped
salad ready for oil & vinegar.
In my dream last night I was swinging from a rope
strung from the upper branches of an apple tree,
and I could go as high as I wanted without bumping
or snagging. Below me were about twenty women,
and I was reciting spontaneous poetry about the joy
of the moment. Awake with exhilaration!
Cheap wine from Whole Floods: sour.
What is there to be said about January,
about winter, that hasn't already been said?