The incense smoke billows over to where I sit at the table: The screen becomes obscured with twirling shapes and motes of dust. In the sunset glare, it looks like a magic mist come to beckon me to someplace mysterious.

I accept isolation and welcome the insight it provides me.

Listening to the hockey game on the radio while sweeping the store: the snow falling outside the dark windows makes me feel like I'm in my own snowglobe and the warm voices narrating the players' actions gives me a dreamy sense of imagination. I feel like I'm there in the stadium, listening to all the clattering in person.

The floor creaks whenever I shift my weight: Standing in front of the glass door, watching birds in the yard. My fingers are cold.

Watching the snow fall around us: The slush on the cement only adds to the charm and I don't feel cold at all.

The color of the sunset when viewed between overlapping clouds: The warmth of it feels blinding.

Worms are drawn to the grotesque.

Waking up and seeing the room come into focus: Sometimes, one eye functions better than the other. Half my vision remains blurry as if in protest of sleep loss.