The day is bright in the leaves already. A little tea and contemplation then the Farmer's Market. It is hard to leave this rich quiet. To go where others are - submerge in the currents of small longings and hidden fret. Rather to sit where the table is steady under my arm. The light falls kind and easy. The birdsongs chipping just on the other side — a constellation of satellite gravities.
Telling: Streams & Logs