jackals and cats
moan at five a.m.
hot sultry blues
dreams of American french fries – the sickness of fast food – and the sickness of those who consume something that will do them harm. It’s hard to sleep when a fan sounds like a waterfall, and my head spins like a barrel.
Two nights of pure sleep until the third attempt and it’s clear that I’m in jet lag turmoil. Culture shock and re-entry, hot dry weather after humid green days across the ocean, all provide fodder for confusion.
Children with their own dramas, me with tools to pretend I can assist. Pretense counts for nothing, when life shifts constantly. The only control is to bite my tongue or say my piece. Which is it? And when?
early morning thoughts
birds build new harmonies
before the dawn