i bore and i bore again, i can't just buck up and let things go. this is our walk on sunday before the memorial day of the dead. i am what i am, whatever i am. i can talk in here, but still there's shame. somebody hung a pandemic wind chime i know because it's etched into the thing, but it was silent today. the curved hill reminds me of the amarillo ramp but made with dirt and foam and mesh and grass. the tower stump held together by a mesh of vines is falling apart. the tree i called dad's memorial oak is hale and hearty—i think that's a phrase he might apply. note that some birders individual or twain often will not be aware of others and stand blocking the path. certain people are the same as b.c. i think i go for another walk, feeling anxious again. i can simply walk each time i feel anxious right? i'm lucky. one thing my therapist tells me, be grateful for what you have. find peace in the truth you can't control anything. but you can have something. what do you want to have? have you got it already? i want to have some pomegranate juice so i might just get out of bed and get me some. ok bye den.