. . . . in which i am painting with sophie . . . though she has demonstrated that she can create images that are exquisitely detailed and austerely beautiful, she chooses nonetheless to paint with large, cumbersome tools as if designed for a toddler . . . she creates an abstract image with broad washes of colors, suggesting pinks, yellows, turquoise . . . i am trying to paint and realize that i have painted over one of her drawings of the former kind and am struck with guilt . . . .

. . . . in which i am going with a team of people to gather some mysterious, clear liquid that comes out of the ground . . . there are four of us - sam, myself, a baby and a man without a face . . . sam performs the task while the rest of us gather around . . . the liquid comes from a pipe on the sidewalk, like a tiny brass fire hydrant, and a nut must be unscrewed in order to get at what is inside . . . sam does this as i advise him on the best way to get this done . . . it comes off and the clear liquid spills slowly out onto the ground . . . sam has brought a laboratory flask and begins to capture some of it . . . while we are waiting the baby plays in a pool of the liquid and we pause to consider if it is safe for them to do so . . . nobody knows the properties of the liquid, which could otherwise be water, that we are collecting . . . .

. . . . in which i am sat in a seminar led by alan and mimi, somehow immune from the ongoing pandemic . . . . there is something reminiscent of school, the tables and chairs and the way they are laid out . . . . alan works his way around talking to each of us individually . . . when he comes to me he offers a number of options . . . i choose “mystical” and he proceeds to cover the surface of the table with fine salt crystals and gives me a handful of dried pink flowers . . . i scrunch the brittle fibers in my left hand while grasping at the salt in my right, letting it fall through my fingers . . . .

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