sunlight misstree when she was a child, someone convinced her that sunlight was feathers, warm and invisible, drifting against her skin, the trees, illuminating the glass on the sidewalk. she lays back on the side of a hill now, years later, and she is still convinced; what else but such a ephemeral idea could capture the way she bathed in gentle glow, soaked it in like a tree's leaves, and how else could she pile it together and play in it, throw it above her head and laugh as it came drifting back down. 031216 ... straw man photosynthesis and the many wavelength moment 031216 ... nom beautiful misstree 031216 ... mon i watched the trees turn shadows the mountain was going to sleep i watched it from my couch wishing it was an old chesterfield listening to a conversation i was having about glue and the broken pieces of a family 040309 ... nom my life is filled with sunlight 061105 what's it to you? who go blather from