Oh hello Again, it is spring. I’m biking to see Iris with tears and snot from hay fever streaming on my cheeks, like the plumes of coloured smoke that trail ceremonial fighter jets at coronations, except me, tired, on a creaky rusty bike, smelling the sickly warmth of the pollen, and shaking, completely, from the infinite possibility of spring. Everything, right now, is potential. Life billows with choices that lead to more. Like Louise Gluck, “I’m looking for courage, for some evidence my life will change, though it takes forever”. And in spring, those signs are everywhere, ugh, teasing me with their optimism, with their playful cartwheeling towards the future.
Optic Nerve and Diva
Optic Nerve and Diva
Optic Nerve and Diva
Oh hello Again, it is spring. I’m biking to see Iris with tears and snot from hay fever streaming on my cheeks, like the plumes of coloured smoke that trail ceremonial fighter jets at coronations, except me, tired, on a creaky rusty bike, smelling the sickly warmth of the pollen, and shaking, completely, from the infinite possibility of spring. Everything, right now, is potential. Life billows with choices that lead to more. Like Louise Gluck, “I’m looking for courage, for some evidence my life will change, though it takes forever”. And in spring, those signs are everywhere, ugh, teasing me with their optimism, with their playful cartwheeling towards the future.