Howdy do! How’s your Friday going? Pearl’s sitting on me right now, so I’m writing with one hand. The chicks are well, and the cats seem to have no ill will towards them, only curiosity. Their red heat lamp constantly emits light, and it’s slightly ominous at night.
Is it warming up back home? I imagine it’s starting to get there. I have hazy, green and yellow-light memories of summer there. Spring is still rainier (but Mt. Rainier is snowy — lol). Most of my memories of spring specifically are of cutting daffodils in the backyard for Mom (Mel). We put them in a (dark turquoise?) jar in the kitchen. I think it was spring when our chickens disappeared, or when one died. The memory is fading now. My brain is a worn, old book in the sun.
Sometimes I think killing myself would make our friends understand that Mom did something wrong. But I know it’s not true. Suicide never causes revelation. Only sadness. Sometimes not that, either. They wouldn’t hear about it anyway. I hope you’ve not thought similarly.
I’m tired today. I’m going to continue resting as my mind declines. I think it’s why these letters are shorter lately. Or perhaps I’ve finally become too repetitively questioning to keep at it without seeming like a wind-up toy. I keep wondering where you are. Where my friends are. What the ground feels like back home. The taste of the air. Please tell me sometime, Soren.
With love,
Alice