Angel speaks to me and says all is ready, he reserved a room for me; the acrobat twirls on the thin wire, such tension, thoughts swirl and light laugher peripherating the tightrope – but there’s not enough distraction in the world to move him from his purpose. Where in the world are we; where in the world could she be? Looking under rocks for the jewel the tiny treasure I remember from homespun happinesses, the small translucent shells that glisten with magic or gasoline from ocean, the gravity mocking puff balls floating through the air from dandelions, those everywhere annoyance-delights; I can run through tall grass the chase I give, catching flies in my bare hand – I scare myself sometimes; I have preternatural reflexes. Like an animal. The angel tells me that’s what happens with some – I should be thankful; half hunter, half jester. Flinging out gifts, singing out sunshine, fighting dry winter skin with sugar pepper parsely and cinnamon.

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