On night-time

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My friend and I stand in a field talking to each other. We talk for so long that the sun sets and the colour of the field changes, as do the colour of the cows grazing in the field. The grass becomes blue, the cows become blue. I look around in wonder, and when I turned back to my friend, they have become blue too. 

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On desire

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When it rains, I get wet. 

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On stimulants

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My favourite earrings are kawakawa leaves made of rubber. When people ask me about them, I say they can be made into tea. 

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On logic (I)

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I decide to build a shelter. I find a hammer, nails, and building materials, and set to work constructing supports for a wall. It seems important to make sure things are square, so I concentrate on that for a while, and get frustrated when they don’t line up. Every nail I hit asks a question I don’t know the answer to. “Why does it always rain when you wear sandals?” “Who was the thirteenth president of the United States?” “Why are you so afraid?”

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On organics

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The shop on the corner called Green Market sells loaves of sweet bread in plastic bags. I like to buy them because they keep for longer. 

 

On working late

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My friend and I are talking again, this time about a poem they sent me. I figure it’s about burn out, a warning against working too hard and partying too much. But they insist that the poem is about leisure, how not working at all will make you broke, but also give you a short window of time to get more out of life. It’s about that, they say, and candles. 

 

On problem solving

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When my friend encounters a problem they don’t know how to solve, they close their eyes and picture the Pacific Ocean, its wide, blue expanse, and the white caps of the waves that ruffle its surface. When they try to teach me this method, I can only think about how hungry I am. 

 

On reflection (I)

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It’s as easy as falling off a piece of cake. 

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On reflection (II) 

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I watch the blue cows jump over the fence that contains the blue field. They are lined up in single file near the fence, waiting for their turn. Not a moo to be heard. They know that at any point the farmer could wake in his bed and come outside to find the cows conducting their silent escape from his property. They also know that they have approximately six more hours of blue light left, after which the sun will rise, and they will lose their ability to jump.  

 

On potential

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I find it hard to be decisive. If I have a free day, I often spend it doing nothing for a lack of knowing what to fill it with. My friend is an optimist; they might call this swimming. 

 

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On baskets

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Green Market also sells eggs, which is convenient because I like to eat them with toasted sweet bread. They come packaged in a plastic shell; when I open the top cover, there is a secondary cover that is moulded to the ovular shapes to keep them from breaking. This secondary cover opens in the opposite direction to the top cover, as if I were unfolding a pamphlet whenever I make breakfast. Some mornings I have to squeeze the entire container to get the covers to open in the way they are supposed to, and it crackles in a way that unnerves me. 

 

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On logic (II)

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A house needs many things to feel like a home, one of which is a light fixture. I ask my friend to come over to help me install a fitting in the ceiling, but they don’t know much about electricity, so they call up their friend who works in the field to come over and help us. My friend’s friend arrives with a ladder and a toolbox, but the ladder is too short, so he calls up his friend who has a taller ladder. It turns out she gave it away, but she wants to come over to help anyway. When my friend’s friend’s friend arrives, there are four of us standing in the house, looking up at the ceiling, trying to figure out a way to make it work. 

 

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On the Pacific Ocean

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A wave is only a ruffle on a smooth surface. 

 

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On writing

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A blank piece of paper is a smooth surface that I want to make waves on. 

 

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On reflection (III)

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The blue dog is sleeping in his crate. 

 

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On rain

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The storm has caused the all the electricity on the block to go out. I can hear the rain coming down in great waves from the sky, hitting the roof hard. Outside, the gutters are filling up, flooding the roads. I imagine water fanning out from the wheels of cars, boats made of leaves sailing the liquid surface. I wonder if cows can swim. I think about calling my friend to ask them about it but then decide not to, for fear of the storm stopping once it knows its name.  

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