The sun here beats down on you, and the mountains have shadows that look like fingers crawling out of them. Everything seems to be below you, except for they sky. We all go to bed early, and we’ve been eating alot. I have been walking in the morning up and down the hills on the gravel road. The cats are all in the garage, and they each have their own hiding place. When they see each other their eyes get wide, and they begin to hiss. One of the cats stalks the other ones, his back swaying and his tail twitching.
Like the cats, all of us are wary of each other, except when we have been drinking. We all rush forward to wash the dishes and are always asking ‘what do you need?’. We ask polite questions like ‘is that the cousin who moved from arizona?’ and ‘which type of hummingbird? the female ruby throat?’. G. barely talks at all. I talk and talk and talk to fill up all that sky, all that empty space above us.
I smear on lip balm and huge palmfuls of lotion. I only wear makeup if we go into town. I let the wind dry my hair, and I bought a turquoise ring at the Saturday market. I bought it from a woman with tables of looped clusters of turquoise beads and chakra bowls, and long strings of dried chilies.
I am supposed to be in the rain; I am supposed to be under gray skies with green leaves and tall trees everywhere and a river. I am not unhappy; I am just tired of trying to earn the space I am occupying.
you are the best