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Mark Cunningham
nightlightnight
Mel Nichols |
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| 1-3 p.m. | ||
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Mahler's Song of the Earth turns into FM dead air, the road is
deserted in both directions, cicadas hit the mute button, the printer
runs out of breath, the espresso machine drowns behind its counter.
Suddenly joy runs through my chest like filling from a cracked Easter
Egg. Maybe somebody decided she wants to see me again. Or a low
pressure front in Ontario has shifted half a mile, which means it won't
rain here in three days. Ten billion individual organisms can be found
in one grain of forest soil. I have no idea of what's going on.
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