Flowers Bloom, Late Summer
These years, I’ve often traveled for work and stolen time for trips whenever I could. Sometimes a business trip means three cities in one day; sometimes, like a hot stir-fry of the old days, I take off at a moment’s notice; sometimes I’m sprinting through high-speed rail stations; sometimes I’m jolting in an airplane’s turbulence. Often I startle awake from dreams—outside the window, night rain in the dim lamplight. I pat my face—ugly, but lucky, lucky: I hurt no one, and living quietly is enough. The wind won’t settle, and I often forget what evening this is, or where this place is.


