[the blessing you hope never to come near]

Morning. Nothing suits me-- fine lamplit wind under the brighter lights of dawn. No matter what I learn, there are reversions. I rely on silence, but I'm desperate to speak, to be spoken to. Sometimes a consciousness sifts up as if everything that's happended never happened at all, wonders where are my schedules, my tidy specimen drawers? For the most part, though, change strikes like a whipping cord-- once is enough.

Lisa Olstein