All Belongs
In my favourite place in the world, life is pain au chocolate writ large by morons with bombs and the floured hands of boulangère who rise before dawn. The Magdelane card I pulled was Gaia, all belongs, and black smoke clouds Middle Eastern skies and the scent of baking drifts upon Mediterranean air. The jasmine is out. The jays have multiplied. We hear chaffinches and collared doves. Yesterday a buzzard lifted off from low oaks to rise carefully above the burnt woods; the blackened trunks now decorated with green, it’s been three years since the fire. Margaret and I have come out to furnish…
The skinny
The skinny isn't ready yet — notes appear once the transcript is processed.