o describe today would be like pinning down a kite. Oh, it was a kite! Warm wind, a cool thin strand running through it like a taut guitar string, plucking at me. And all the ancient rock standing by, as it always has, watching summer happen for the millionth time - the city pressed atop its shield, evolving, devolving. Marvelling at it all, how I came to live in these rock hills, my southern days thawed long ago into polar blue lakes, and I, hidden on the endless water, loving my strange life.
(Yes, water and sky are that blue.)