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In 100, by Nora on July 8, 2020 at 10:44 am

sitting on a shady porch in the lazy-warm sage-imbued breeze, looking at an absurd set of burnished and crumbling rock formations mesa-ing into the distance, monumental and wise but also constantly changing, bare, teva-imprinted sun-drenched feet, scrapes and bruises happily reminding my body of long childhood summers, when looking at plants and stars and bugs took up maybe 40% of my time; my laptop tries not to spoil the effect, obsequiously offering Google Sheets, wikipedia, and, as I compile a presentation about a convertible 18th-century walking stick/flute/oboe, an instrument for aristocratic pleasure gardens (ones so unlike my own, current one).

  1. ahem, where can i acquire such an instrument?


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