02 Jul In the bottom of my bag

With freedoms increasing the importance of the tree outside my apartment has shifted. I’m detailing bits that I’m already in the process of forgetting. Mapping squares of territory, stitching together little glimpses of recognition. I’m carrying pieces of all the landscapes I’ve seen, scrunched up in the bottom of my bag, folded in my pocket, slipped between the pages of a book, cradled in the palm of my hand, touching at tenuous points and ready to drift away.