yesterday

It’s difficult to rest my mind on nights when I allow it to wander too much. It wanders itself into a wonder and then I have to write to wind it back up into a brain again. It’s like a garden hose all sprawled out on the lawn in the middle of the night. And there’s no need for a hose at 1 o’clock in the morning because the dew is beginning to settle on the grass and the flowers are asleep like I should be.