The sky of a summer sunrise is gold and deep yellow-white and I look up within surreal beauty. The sun rises like these letters, from northeast corner and then all over the paper as I sit in my writer's chair observing the beginning of this day that is nothing special--except for right now, except for the explosion of light through oak leaves weaving overhead in cool morning fresh air of this late June experience. The sky turns yellow to white to powder blue and I would have these moments last forever BUT I have to vacuum and make clean the inside which is where we live and dance like squirrels in the tree. In the space of swaying branches I listen to Dylan saying only to me, that--I make love just like a woman. I push the sucking beast back and forth over cat shedding and cracker crumbs. With swaying hips and smile on my working singing lips.
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