Breathlike
Just as the day could use another hour, I need another idea. Not
a conceptor a slogan. Something more like a rutmade thousands of
years ago by one of the firstwheels as it rolled along. It never
came backto see what it had done, and the rutjust stayed there, not
thinking of itselfor calling attention to itself in any way.Sun
baked it. Water stood, or rather satin it. Wind covered it with
dust, then blew itaway. Always it was available to itselfwhen it
wished to be, which wasn't often.
Then there was a cup and ball theoryI told you about. A lot of
people had left the coast.Squirt conditions obtained. I forgot I
overwhelmed youonce upon a time, between everybody's sound sleepand
waking afterward, trying to piece togetherwhat had happened. The
rut glimmeredthrough centuries of snow and after.I suppose it was
trying to make some pointbut we never found out about that, having
come to know each other years laterwhen our interest in zoning had
revived again.
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