But It Is Response
I'm letting the aloes die
This isn't a sane response to winter - but it is response
so that's something
Last night the wind was strong enough to strip the adobe from the patio ceiling - the bare concrete is stained with white - patterns want to form there but manage only to look like patterns
When the pots were broken - I broke the pots - the earth inside was infested with flies and I watched them struggle in their new found freedom
No one actually expects patterns to form - the world already has its order and it won't conform to ours - but the idea that pattern does happen is nice
I felt the idea - nature abhors chaos - and it rolled in the back of my mouth like phlegm
You throw the shards of terracotta into the air and they all land in a circle with the sharpened points inward - they make a strange portal
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