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KINDRA McDONALD   What follows me around in dreams are always flying things
however the world stalls and stops or starts again each spring there is an order to things. First the tent caterpillars crawling in the eaves hugging brick and window, gutter and garage curling into crescents. Next the birds ravenous and ready they eat their fill sticky with silk threads, last the flies eating all that’s left. How flies rise from the dead lay their eggs in cocoons, survive the winter, the war, the plague. It’s the little things that run the world.
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"In these bruising days, Archives
May 2022
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