Grains of Words, Fingertips and Buds

I have peanut butter fudge cooling in the kitchen, a brilliant purple-pink sunset before, and Papina growing in my window. I have my head of words, vanilla coffee and I have a paper from one of my heros sharing the encouragement that “Apollo rules.” A fool once wrote, “Remember that survival is hibernation.” Waking up is slow, but, like the maples around me, I’m growing to live again.

I’ve had a couple nice days today and yesterday. On Tuesday I walked with Cerra downtown as she visited her tattoo artist and picked up a train ticket (of which I am quite jealous, since I have such a love of trains). We continued our tradition of eating ice cream and stopping at Subway (where cookies were consumed). Today I met her at the Walmart (that “high hound of capitalism” itself), where Cerra got various things, and I did my best not to turn red in the underwear section. On the way out and before walking through the drizzle, she loaned me the two volumes of Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood and Alain de Botton’s The Consolations of Philosophy, both of which look like promising reads.

Since last week I’ve been piecing away at and completely rewriting the next section of “Whispers” that I intend to share soon. It’s a rather lenthy section filled with dialog, so I find it needs attention that my usual writings do not. I may end up sharing it in sections so that I can continue to work of the developing parts while sharing what I feel works so far.

Poe‘s song “Fingertips” has been looping through my head for several days now. I listened to it during one of my weekend walks and really appreciated it a lot more than I had in the past. Headphones can add a surprising amount to my enjoyment of a song, as can listening to one as I walk the streets of Halifax I have not yet explored.

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