he moves so slowly i get sad, i'm already sad about the trees and the seizure of the parks by businessmen. and maybe i can't really communicate, and maybe i've been too long in isolation, talking to self, trees, and dogs. if i were a tree i'd be one of those invasive species. i'd be cut off at the feet. 
my heart slows down. i feel his every step as a struggle in my sluggish brain. walking round the point by the south fire circle there are people i know who don't seem to see me, or see me without recognition, and they greet mister, and i feel my sadness has made me a ghost who follows dogs.