Monday. February 26

• The drops of late night rain gleaming on  the dadilion

• The geometric shapes of light cast from the window onto the floor, one circle, warmer more yellow, one rectangle. Both are stripped from the window bars

• The riotous burst of the blooming tulips, and impossible orange red. Inside, the pollen crouches like a lion

• the faint miasma of rot rising from the kitchen sink drain. 
• The sudden wave of peace upon looking up at James Turrel's Space that Sees. A soft rectangle of blue. Then a cloud drifting. a bird flies across. At the edge, just where the sky meets the  warm yellow edge of the framing open roof, a bright green line appears and disappears, winking in and out of exsitence