Twenty-seven cups of rhubarb later, and I am tired. I spent today washing clothes and drying them on the line outside. Then I picked an entire plant of rhubarb to chop and freeze. It took all day, but it was worth it. It kept me occupied. I’ve noticed now that summer is here how much I enjoy being occupied. I need something to do constantly or I start to feel a little lost and detached. Writing everyday helps sustain a slightly more tethered feeling in my life, but at the same time I feel the desire to write all of my flighty emotions and thoughts here; another unstable foundation in my swaying acrobatic performance.

So I will cave to my desire to free write. Here is a flow that has been festering in my mind, begging to be written down since my bike ride this morning:

The face held the same fallen expression that had been given to it this morning. Around her stood the attendants, her quick footed fleet of servants waiting for her to command. Yet no words sprung forth from her bruised mouth. Her usual authority of the atmosphere was not present, and without that it seemed nothing to fill the air in the room. Only footsteps padded and patted quickly past the door of the room where she had sequestered herself. In that room it seemed even breathing was too loud a sound for the fragile air to hold. Each being in that room could count the breaths that he or she took in a minute on one hand. Still, the grand woman stood at the window without notice of the strange presence she had created.