Too Tired to Contemplate
“Finally made it out to the woods”, I say. “So they’re still in the same place”, my mom says, as if the woods were a collection of living organisms instead of a single geographical location.
I’ve taken up the observation of a new species. I am working (night an day) at a kind of halfway house for recovering addicts. A paradox: a species so set on individual (and global) self-destruction while simultaneously compelled to compassion for it’s own frailty.
