I’ll talk about the heavy pollen and ripe Marionberries. I’ll talk of the grey, drizzly days. I’ll talk about a life that will stand opposite of a flowing river of experience. I will stand other the farther bank and speak of a time that exists in photos and old notebooks.

I’ll talk about my old habits of wandering the city and jotting down story ideas. I’ll explain a place I’ve needed to leave, but will find myself scared to depart.

The unknown is inevitable. If the law of the universe is constant change— the unknown lives at the edge of our reality as a constant Spector.