Today is December 6, 2016.
Stanley Steemer people will clean two floors in this house. I sit here on the sofa/couch warming my feet. Magregor sleeps next to my knee. Saki below on the beige/blue. On and off aware of a small copse of green, gray sometimes, rustling in center for language (brain?).
Interesting to me are the explorations, by chance, I used to follow along said brain.
I glided pathways for observational purposes. Never suspecting.
Occasionally, a small burst of yellow or silver;
a determination to ignore, at least, until turning a corner (down many months, if not years).
Never to return to that dull morning walkathon through metal doors, always with a smile; good morning, parade. (Do we want that comma?)
The tradeoff such enormity.
