The dog scratching your front door is what tells you you've overslept. The sun rises later these days, she comes in with cold fur and points to the open road impatiently. On our way back, the desert sand is already warmer, a coyote runs across our path, also caught aware by the times of day. We are all faltering under the illusion of time.
I come home, cancel the things I thought I had to do. Clean my own slate, turn off the clocks. The desert is vast, and warm, and impossible to gauge.
Start there. See where it takes you.
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