Our voices are silenced and existence erased. Some feel threatened to speak out. It is an audacity. It is angering. 

 

 i just heard the sandhill cranes liquid warble and i jumped up to see them passing southbound.

 the first meeting with george he noted my not breathing. i told him i didn't breathe around g. she said i live in a vacuum. i said i didn't want to exhale vacuum in the letter to g. i told george i didn't want to exhale miasma. he said it's a strong evocative word. a word from a poem i wrote about living in miami, the buried jungle. he broke it down, my asthma. do you have asthma? i smiled. only in my mind.

what is there without belief?

 

 i'm listening to vespers by rachmaninov. it's lovely. i don't know what they're singing. i don't go to church, or know church slavic, so for me it's just singing about the all-night vigil of the evening star. the only word i recognize is alleluia. it's a long song sung to a star in the heavens.

 old boy wallace has been gruff for years, but he came back from olney feeling mellow. he was visiting a family member, a boston terrier who is waning, and his perspective shifted. it's heartening to see we are never too old to change. 

 i wrote the note. i'm leaving the studio. i'm grateful for the space, it was such a cozy, warm and charming dwelling all these years. and now i'm grateful to be living with r. and penny in vista homes. i've moved many times since i was little and i felt uprooted. ever since the divorce i've always yearned for a home for good.