9:47 AM PT - Oct. 12, 2004
Field
the days are shorter now and go so quick from the mind. how i drink my cup of coffee and swallow not even knowing the fire of the dark brown liquid or the icy coldness, only that the sun is still out. and i must work. and how my day sometimes is a newspaper three weeks old, yellowing, and comfort is found with a new match or a lit candle. oh, the constancy of work like a star or a mountain and in me is a volcano that wants to do something to break the inertia but all i can do is pull up weeds. move dust. scare away a crow or two.
