Day Three Hundred and Seven.


Izzy circle


He covers his coughs with a kind of harrumph. Somehow it has the same effect as if he was standing there shifting from foot to foot. Underneath that slightly offended sound, he still has pockets full of rocks and shells, still swinging arms and crooked, toothy grin.


Sarah circle


On this mountaintop, I can see for days. The eucalypts twist in the heat and press their scent into the palms of the wind, and the clouds turn their faces to the sun. I can see sheep dusted like icing sugar in the dry dead grass. I can see the spires of the cities bouncing light back where it came from. And I can see you. You are wrapped in a dust cloud, storming behind your sturdy thoughtful face. I can hear the life buzzing in your chest, blowflies and big ideas. Here in the sky I am perched on the tower of Babel, watching this confusion of tongues rattle through the night, bouncing off faces and falling into translationless laughter. I am far away and silent and looking at your face and liking what I see.



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