saturday

i fell asleep listening to the man next door, playing jazz very softly on his trumpet. when i woke up i was suffocating in blankets, in the southern heat.

when i go someplace new, for awhile i experience this sense of well being. the amber light, huge fields of green grass. a new world. when i was a child, my californian parents bought a thoroughbred farm in kentucky. i have not been back for a very long time. sometimes though, i think about the light, shafts of it hitting the tobacco hung up to dry in the barn, dirt roads, the black wooden fences, the stone walls. the light is different.

here, it is similar, but not quite the same.

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