Friday-Saturday, February 16-17

• the flags of the gas station, glowing against the dusty grey of the sky

• the poppies glow with an orange halo where the light hits them.
• After the poppies' petals fall, a small pouch wrapped in something that looks like black filigreed lace is left. 

• Some of the pouches burst, creating a white fur-like stole

• From the back, the spreading petals look like the wing of a butterfly

• I show Y. a beetle in the sand. She grabs it in her little paw, and I watch helpless, suddenly terrified for its fragile hair-like legs, waving desperately. 
• The way the wheat grows in perfectly straight lines, like somebody laid down a rope  and all the seeds sprouted from there
• The overly sweet sugar taste  the cake, that drowns out all other flavors
• the dark blue sheet, billowing in the wind, entangled in bright blue exposed wires
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