sunday

July 3, 2025

Of course, (of course!) you were right when you said

Everyday is like Sunday, silent, but pale blue, cool to the touch— and warm on the inside. Today is covered in spruce needles that crunch under my sneakers. Now I believe in infinity, peering out towards the satisfyingly tall mountains past a field of barley, dancing in patches with the wind.

The sound of a magnificent tree waving slowly cradles the earth; the buzzing of the farmland, the promise of forever.