Everything is Alive.

I walked my father halfway to the shops. The walk back by myself was amazing. Every porch with an animal. Every yard with a critter. Every bird singing. Every cloud waving. Every tree shuddering.

Everything is alive.

The azaleas threaten to take over the house. Do it! I whisper, Do it!

The Noni plant is the only plant not in bloom. It's one blossom lives in New York. I wonder if I shouldn't cut the heads off and remake the scene.

Here.
My porch slowly being taken over by art. I must switch it, tidy, twirl it around. So I can swing again, on the swinging thing.



And the flowers that climb in my ears and crush out my brain.





But surely now my frisket must be dry.
I am painting the largest watercolour I've ever painted today.
It makes me grin all over.
It's everything I walked past today.
It's the tingle in my fingers.
And the grin on the inside of my left cheek.
It's what I want to eat.
And a thousand years of sleep.
It's over my head and under it.
And it's calling, I must go.