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The day was gray and chilly--

A day one doesn't really think needs a closer introduction to that the window can provide. And from the window the trees softened by mistiness but with occasional dark elbows prodding and their wide dark stems descending into a blur of reddish brush. At night I can hear the river even though I cannot see the river. And in the day there are cars that distract from the river and of course the goings on of my own self involved in this and that.

Today my nonbinary child came from Massachusetts to get the stuff that was left here an apartment or so ago. Said stuff including books and sundries and most importantly the Magic Bullet. I had eyed that Magic Bullet it's a size and class up from the one I have which often seems to stutter a bit when confronted with large ice chunks. So I had thought about taking that better Bullet from my nonbinary younger child.


We had lunch and spoke of this and that.


Meanwhile I've been investigating painting while listening to different sorts of music. I've grown too too used to the predictable twang of my early-oughts Roots Rock verging on Alt-Country. I'm too used to the rhythms and the sentiments and so I keep making the same brush strokes in time with it. So yesterday, I put Charlie Parker on and today Miles Davis. There was a difference. A little wildness, lightness and humor to my brush strokes. Maybe more and less space at the same time?

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