Today, I nestle in a half-hidden morning, tucked inside the taste of croissant crumbs and a return to bed, after breakfast. Returning to bed is always good. I curl like a cat into the spirals of dull clouds that line the sky; autumn is here. Two busy months have spun my body into a peripatetic pace, measured by alarm calls, train coffee and limbs reaching out to strangers, the logos trying to twist a rope, upon which we may walk together. Today, I unwind the cords, unpack the bags and dismantle the relentless clock. I sink into the sofa with detective novels, listening to The Godfather:Love Theme while I think about eating raclette; melted cheese and pencil grey skies. Movement and repose.
