a few weeks ago (this climate seems unthinkable now)
i enter the library on a cool autumn day and upon exiting find myself buffeted in all directions by warm winds, like someone breathing with their mouth open
and as i walk home under a purple sky, between rustling rows of shedding trees
the wind sharpens and slows, and a far-off pattering begins to crescendo until i feel drops on my skin.
i think of california
the cloudless blue skies staring back patiently, indifferently, indulgently
kind enough,
and cruel enough
to let you forget about
topography,
temperature,
time
hog maw 