Morning tea in the sunny park. Milky steam on the river. Crisp air with a hint of pale. Fingerless gloves and the hardness of skin on fingers that are uncovered. Tea mug balanced on warm, motionless leg, coaxing (unsuccessfully) squirrels to approach. They are working hard, growing layers of fat creating textured seams along their joints like it was when we wore hockey jerseys over our winter coats to simulate gear. Older men carrying old-fashioned briefcases to the train. Robins (where have they been all summer? I feel like I haven’t seen any for months). Anne Carson circling unanswerable, irresistible questions and making them somehow knowable, making my mind jump, awaken, quicken, making me feel like I am somehow more. Lapsang Souchong steeped just right this morning.