A months-late return to riverbanks thin with imaginary blue-green algae. Cyanotoxins lounging in warm ozone runoff. A parched current, thick with bloated bodies. The bees thankfully still congregating at their yearly waterhole. Holes in the sand where skipping stones have gone missing. Holes in my hands make it harder to swim. A mother duck preens herself on shore, haloed by a dozen restless, fuzzy spheres. For a little while, I forget that I'm drowning again.
1:27 p.m. - 2021-06-11
Recent entries:
Caramelization and Hail - 2021-06-24
Of Late Arrivals at Falltails - 2021-06-24
On Not Being Alone - 2021-06-17
Head Cleaning - 2021-06-17
The Messiness of Silence - 2021-06-11
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