I move to a big studio with my boy and fill it with new white furniture, bird keepers let thousands of birds out to fly at dusk in my new neighborhood and the light comes in from one side to the other through the day in the nicest way. i paint the window frames white and get some on my clothes- think about my aunt who painted homes and always wore paint stained jeans, would watch the wizard of oz over and over with me as a kid as long as she could put on rocky horror picture show as often. she was my mother when mine was sick and then she died too. think about my father sending me snapchat videos of crickets and asking me if i can hear them too. i cry three or four times this month about nothing, the new french press breaks within a week and we buy jugs of expensive stupid cold latte drink at the corner store instead because we’re not poor anymore, it feels funny. Days are getting shorter and boy asks in his sleep if it’s raining the morning I leave at 6:57am and it’s not light anymore. I let three nuns into my cafe before we’re open with wet rain ponchos over their habits they surround me and ask in their way if they can pray for anything for me, I thought that would be cool so I think for a long time with them looking at me but just ended up saying ‘no’. They give me some virgin mary pendants. I feel content walking with a new bottle of wine or houseplant or my camera shooting pictures of pretty clouds or flowers or too many of those birds flying but there’s no content.