Return to the sweet demon


There’s a summer happening here, in realtime. Greece can wait. The UV is burning and the capital is empty. Everyone has fled the work ethic and dived into coastal holiday mode. I’ve had my share of joyous outpourings and returned to pluck at my canvas. Ah the music is sweet! But first I dropped into a moment of intense solitude, meeting New Year’s Eve with a sober stare and a promise of hanging out another time. I needed to think. Then I dropped into depression. I needed to process. On the third day I rose from these dreamless depths with curiosity. The world still existed post Donald Trump. It was bright and somewhat magical. Politics excepted.



The Sun Dance


A nest is important. In the morning I hung the sarong in the east. At Midday I draped it between the juniper trees and lay in the tiny patch of shade underneath. By the end of the day it hung limply on the west side, unless the wind challenged the unceasing heat. The buddha watched me without blinking an eyelid.