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The weather’s acting like a teenager: radical unhappiness, then blind joy.
Distance in the distance.
On nature walks, information about bugs and birds ballooned and hovered in a spot above the counselor’s head.
Cartoon talk in a language I wouldn’t learn.
That is why I screamed today when I saw a spider on my blanket.
Forests look inviting, but I like them to remain mysterious.
I like them to look like illustrations to The Blue Fairy Book, all Art Nouveau curlicue and flourish.
The ideal way I savor a forest is to say it, read it.
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Both regulators and employers have embraced new technologies for on-the-job monitoring, turning a blind eye to unjust working conditions.
But I do miss the hymns, / the small, hard apples with their dimpled skin. I do miss / things.
The vast hinterlands of the Global South’s cities are generating new solidarities and ideas of what counts as a life worth living.