This week smells like the pages of an old book safe on the dry front porch during a thunderstorm. After, there are shiny black crow feathers glistening in the sun. Violets poking their little heads up. We’re rubbing sand from our eyes.
This week tastes like banana splits (or maybe bananas foster french toast, if that’s more your thing) and kefir.
This week feels like sand in a dry mouth, bare feet on sticky wood floors as you run down the stairs and into the grass, and rinsing your mouth in a cold stream.
Below are your transits for the next week.