At 7:49 the sun is just over the treetops lining the eastern flank of the little valley, the far side, opposite the hill path I take every morning down to the village for breakfast. The small farmstead on the valley floor is still damp, still steeped in blue, a cloth-in-dye kind of feeling. The small farmstead on the valley floor is the only farm left in the little valley.
Today my mind is in December, is in why-isn’t-my-Japanese-better, is in why-don’t-I-draw-more-or-take-more-photos, is in what-am-I-doing part of the little valley. Just as damp and as blue a place as the farm down below. Breakfast will help. Breakfast always helps. Instagram does not help. By the time I have breakfast, the sun will have warmed the valley floor. I will have a glass of milk, take a hot shower, and make a cup of coffee and all will be well. How lucky I am that this is all I need.
Blood sugar.