In morning I wrote in the full sun heat, feeling bleak about being alive and passionately striving endlessly. I poured water on my head as a baptism - to be new from everlasting life.
I went off for a drive going to the split of highway 60 east and highway 60 west and I’d been with the full intent of going west to Cartel coffee and writing - and just then an assembly of sunlit doves flew overhead, had me in a trance and i followed 20 minutes out east. I had no reason.
I found myself talking to the cute barista girl at the coffee shop called The Coffee Shop what i just wrote.
As I sit I have a conversation with her in my head. She walks out to wipe a table occasionally and we acknowledge eachother.
I sit under the old pine yet again, the birds fly all about. Fair winds flutter pink and white petals all about. I don’t know where dreams end and reality begins.
I watch the birds, feel the wind, listen to a nearby conversation from old men gossiping and I exchange glances with a woman in leopard print. Finished putting together a short story called Murakami. I get going off through flowers and orchard and a community garden.