2002-05-07 || 7:45 p.m.

|| that funny time between equinox and solstice. shadows playing tricks and prime time, sun lit. ||

serious cleaning may be in order. all the boxes will go to the dumpster, all the papers and paper and scraps and glass bottles to their respective receptacles. weeding through wobbly paperbacks. handing over the ill-fitting sweaters, the weird sailor pants, the stainy tee-shirts, that one wool top that turned shrinkydink in a washer at the solano wash n dry. overturning desk drawers, sock drawers, silverware drawers. bills and statements and christmas cards. suitcases. ten year-old magazines.

it's like a brilliant opening up. clicking the camera lens to full stop. letting the sun in and packing it up in boxes to open somewhere else. pop pop. pop.

i am going to move. it will be summer time. there will be paint spilled on cement, charcoal in the grass, bread crumbs in the kitchen corners. somewhere else.

and everything will be rearranged just so. in a kaleidoscope combination that produces music, a whistling, sunlight.

(i can feel it. all the active agents waiting in the rafters at the ready for bat-like descension.)

(i would like those times again. and in time for summer: loquats and crafty projects dusted with pollen and dirt and outside smells, car rides, tan lines, the secret languages and no socks).

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