Last night I was sitting on the moon looking down and the Earth, and it looked windy. All of the clouds around the planet were swirling as they do in Van Gogh paintings. My legs were dangling and I was afraid to lean forward much for fear of slipping off the curvature and falling. I hate the idea of falling, but in space, I guess it would be more of a drift. I could do "drift", I guess.
My coffee maker is struggling and in the mornings it moans as it goes to work. Building up all that white calcium is hard work I suppose. It creates this calcium that is like the glare off fluorescent light, the stain of a concrete skyline, the look of a widow's face. I swirl my creamer into the aromatic eddy and ponder the state of my guts. Is it stress? Am I dying?
I'm older. But am I wiser?
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