Terns fly south in the winter; turn north, west and east for all I know. My window points in one direction. A man stood upright and walked out of Africa, or so I am told. Georgia, maybe, or some place cooler. Nudging north, a step behind his hard on.
In the reign of beasts whole continents migrated this way and that. Tectonic plates riding the mantle. Fire. Brimstone.
Sulfur and ash.
Breaking in pieces like so much crockery.
Well. Not to make a mountain out of a molehill, but this migration leaves me with little to toast. A change of URL and not much else. I haven\’t moved any in the last three days; grocery shops and tobacco stops.
Progress comes in incremental degrees. Cheesy Swarf in the mail and idle pickings.