On some lowkey Wallace Stevens shit this Sunday morning.

It’s a blustery, dark day, though. No sunny chair. No green-winged cockatoo around. Closest thing is the calls of migrant geese on the wind, and our dog’s occasional whimpers at the creaking trees and house noises, and/or at us for just sitting around.

Especially appropriate because I used to be a believing Mormon so coffee is a no-no for every morning, but perhaps an especial sacralege for Sunday morning when I’m supposed to be at church taking the sacrament and recommitting to do and not do a bunch of things such as not drink coffee. Death and resurrection, newness of life. Awake and arise.