Breakfast Run
The air is crisp. Unexpectedly crisp as we edge toward summer in Texas. The cool breeze feels like it should carry the scent of death and cinnamon. Apples and cinnamon. I can feel the heat of the sun trying to break through, to reveal the true nature of the season, but for now the cool trail of a storm lingers. I missed the rain but I can see the puddles. This is kind of a good metaphor for my life right now. I missed the rain, but I can see the puddles, and I can feel the cool, soothing aftermath. This is the type of weather that should be around when we're reunited. It's the kind of weather I love. I can see the storms on the horizon, begging to come back and over-take the new brilliance of the day, and I hope the winds are strong enough to push them back. I want to walk freely. I think I might want to run later if I don't get too drunk this morning. The morning is for art and spirits. Liqueurs. I have three paintings to finish. I saw my psychiatrist on Friday s...