two straight months of rain does something to your psyche.
one turns insular. i just want to caccoon and be woken by cherry blossoms. not slip and slide on dead leaves.
even my cactus died.
i suppose a temperate rainforest is not the place for such a prickly beast, which was a gift from one of my students. i didn’t have the heart to tell her i kill such things.
even the air plant.
alas, when the sun does emerge we do rejoice. even if only momentarily.
forever temporary. this life.