Ocean 2.11.16 11:10:59 to 11:12:15

Days. Weeks. Friends.

The books rested around the coffee. I sat somewhere quiet in the past, writing and drawing. Next to my one foot an open book was engaged in light conversation with the wind. The light followed me sharply, and I drew on the language dancing in the inner landscapes. And another day: Was it the forests you came from? Later, one of the following nights, as we followed each other down each our line.