we were gone seven days and i had no news. my phone didn't even work up there. soon i forgot about it all, the world of news and the news of the world. ah, it's a relief to know the news is not the world. up there in the mountains and in the sky it was easy to forget, and easy to remember, the news isn't my news, it's some other people's news, strangers to me. i think i prefer it this way. i prefer not to think about the news every day, all day. i want to think about drawing. i want to think about the cat olive. and r. maybe dream of an owl in a bare tree, a tree that died and stayed, a perfect owl tree, because i didn't see an owl when i was awake, of course i could see one in my dreams. be that as it may. i may have forgotten, i may remember, but sure, i dream, everybody dreams.