
On the table: This drawing pairs well with a glass of this poem fragment:
“[…]
I have watched her in the morning.
Clutching old bones in her fingers,
dancing through the desert
howling into the science of the sky.
claws clacking, silks catching sand,
she puts the bones in order, and does it all again.”
if you’re just tuning in now, and are wondering what all this lightning is about, you can catch up on my strange history with lightning over here.