The wind woke me up in the little hours, whispered “It is time.”

I walked through the house and opened all the windows, even though it was raining and the day would turn hot. The air caressed my skin, cooler and gentler than my sleeping lover can.

I felt the shadow of tomorrow looming over me, friendly and ominous.

I felt the shadow of tomorrow looming over me, indifferent to categorization.

I felt the echo of the night before.

I smelled the dill that chokes the garden, giving up its oils to the wet air. I used to know the name for that, but Google is a travesty.

Google is a sacrilege in the night.

There are times in our lives when we should not know things, times when it is better that we only breathe in and out, something we have in common with all earthly life.

There are times not to question the wind.

And so I did not question, but I did transcribe.

I will also take time tomorrow to send this writing out to the internet to fend for itself.

I will add a picture, fix the grammar, maybe reflect on change.

I might say a word about 19 years ago when my son and my future were both thoughts in my body, and what that crystalline memory feels like under so many fossilized layers of time.

I might wipe all this away and start over.

I might leave it behind and go forward.

I might be still

and

keep it to myself

and

never share it

at all.

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I still write sometimes, and I have a buttload of already-written stuff. So there you go.

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