May 23, 1989

Where am I at? That’s a good question. I am holding on to tears inside of me, in a strangely quiet way. It’s like a cool, rippling pool on the floor of my heart, a kind of solitude without bitterness. A little bit like church music on the lakeshore at dusk, piercing through the chilled air. No birds around, only quiet fish swaying beneath the surface, unseen, unheard, but aware. Me and the Sky and a cool wind that is