I never know where these things will go when I first start on them. This one ended up with a poem fragment from Instead of Indonesia by Sarah Bein that I gleaned long ago in a workshop somewhere and hoarded with me over the miles. Words that meant something then, when I read them, and something now, reading them anew, different but them same. I marvel at the patterns of life, how inexplicably they repeat themselves, as dependably as the moon and her tidal pulls.

I spent the weekend watching movies and letting myself become overcome by floods of emotion. It’s been exhausting, actually. I’m not sure I’ve gained anything but I did create something, so I suppose that is good.