Musings, At-Home Rituals, and More
Written by a real human without the use of AI.
Because when in doubt, I ask my pussy, not a fucking chat bot.
The Story of My Place
I live where water yearns to be weightless, where the air is thirsty, where each and every molecule of water disappears into a love affair with the still, blue sky.
I cannot tell if I am a mirror to My Place, or if My Place is a mirror to myself. Does Skunk Canyon, shimmering after the late summer monsoons, look upon my soul and see itself as I stroll through its tall grass?