Thursday, January 18

• Heated milk gets an overly-sweet, neasueating taste if allowed to cool.
• the lighting hitting the edge of the teacup, casting a shadow of light and gold on the table

• The disturbing intimacy of three pairs of underware beside a thin white nightgown, hanging to dry. Kind of incapsulates the attraction of the laundry lines for me (other than the color)--the  liminal line that enxhibs oour private closet for public display. The photo didn't come out. Maybe it was not meant for the more public display of a blog.
• A fallen naarcissus on the sidewalk, with its perfect yellow crown against the backdrop of asphalt.
•  Y. shocked gasp at the winter weather Every gust of wind is a new insult.