i read poetry in the morning with coffee and jazz and make sense of my aching back, my sore back, my bad shoulder with arthritis already, and I stand straight to find that muscle memory.

I’m usually up for my days early. Body clock.

I catch up on email and work on school. I’m years into doctoral research and study and everybody and I know that it’s now or never.

Now then.

In the dark of 4 AM in Atlanta in Georgia, from my study window there is a church with a lot of bright lights on that looks to me like a white shiny beacon in the middle of a hill, a mountain. It shines brightly and I haven’t driven over to see what exactly is there yet.

Georgia in July means that you lay down poison to dissuade snakes off of your property and away from the house. Copperheads. Garter.

Kudzu grows and grows and grows and grows.

Hot. Sticky. Sweaty. A light layer of sweat just stays on me at work but I’m rather busy and physically active at work, but you’re hot and sweaty and tired by 2 PM.

Werk.