more than one domestic time machine, in print.

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more than one domestic time machine. Amy Brandon 2022

a 6am start means waking at 4:45. 10 minutes to get ready, a rumbling stomach and a 20 minute walk is the only time this place is quiet.

Oh, the silence! It feels as though you are walking on clouds when it is this serene. Fog leaks into your head and fabricates a high. Eyes vignetted with cotton and sleep, as your shoes tap against the white, green, terrcotta tile

Pale yellow blends into blue. We drive along the long road to who knows where. The heater has been blasted to number six. Shins thaw, toes defrost. Greenery sprouts at either side; unintentional in their living and placing but equally important. Large hills lay ahead, reminding us that we too, live unintentionally but are equally important.

Breathless, sweating, gasping A burning chest And then we reach the top.

Still, and serene…and… No other words can describe it. In many ways, I am still there, and it is hard to describe something in the moment.

I travel back and forth, between urban and suburban and rural. The scenes are never usually the same. But this stays the same. A constant too and fro, never in one place long enough.