He calls

“Are you ok?” he asks me

“No,” I say

“I know. I can still sense things like this about you,” he says

“Why?” I ask him “and why now after so much time?”

“Because I worry about you. Someone has to,” he says 

“What are you doing for money these days?” he asks me

“Just the usual.”

“I don’t want you depending on that spy—you need money….Commission me six new images,” he says 

I have wondered often when reading through history, (disregarding our current headlines) what was it like for the every day, common people who lived during times of historical political stress under Napoleon, for instance, or King Henry VIII, Attila the Hun, Caligula etc etc and written about thoughts of Rouen with images of King John. Thought of the stifled lives. Shuttered behind the neat architecture. Throughout all times, the people born into lives they never asked for 

I think of

especially now

story from a window view

 

my cabbage rose obsession

 

retrospective, my Oregon trails

The sky was always full of ash there;

waiting at bus stop on the way to work at Rare Earth in Ashland

Self serve, the best tomatoes; there was a cash box and their trust

My Goat friend in Talent on the walk home

my knee and a Mountain View eating lunch

Ashland bookstore 

 

i fear I am so dreadfully sad. i do not think i am ok. and the enormity is stunning ….and cannot, shall not, will not utter aloud to anyone because they would never understand

is there nowhere left to breathe.no place to rest a heavy head no warm shoulder; this cold world