It is important to write moon, write sun, write day. The day begins when the moon tires and the sun magnifies ants.

I smell wood burning. Even in Arizona there are fireplaces. It is a chilly 60. I have yet to turn on the heat. I opt for sweaters.

Some insect has attached nests to the corners of my patio. THe nests, gray, round masses with holes in them. I would think wasp, but the nests are too small.

The ants have tunneled their way into the dirt. Do they too get cold?

The sun slips, the moon comes up. I am a lone figure standing at my bedroom window with no curtains. The dark curls around my waist. It is not dark enough that I can’t see my boots even though they are black. My reflection falls forward. I am in full view of anyone standing on the sidewalk outside my window. I do not worry about this. Why no worry? What is one to do with the sight of a lone figure…continue walking.

It has been a day filled with silent conversation I manufacture on my own. I drink water in between periods. End the sentence and say goodnight. I will sleep to the patter of feet on my bed kneading their way to nowhere. Eventually, the cats will settle down. I want for nothing. The moon is nice, is calming. It will tire again and I will have a new day in which to eat French toast; heavy on the syrup. I want for nothing.