i should be outside taking pictures

but instead i've retreated to the interior.

i've been surrounded by folk and people and persons and friends and colleagues all week. now i must rest. how is it that i feel a little lonely, then? how is it that i can't bear the thought of words whispered into the cradled phone, yet i long for whispers direct to my rapt ear? i want hugs and slumber wrapped up in warm arms and legs. i want the thrill of dissonant song - screaming at the top of our lungs to the lichen and the ice and the sun behind the islands.