I'm alone, but it's okay
All around me are inky memories
But the cows, the cows are real.
They low and their calls
Are like blotches absorbing into canvas
Like the way you forget:
Fibers take fluid
Distort and pull apart
Dark reaching out, out
Thoughts spreading into the blank
Maybe I could press my face against the trees
Press my eyes against the sky
Maybe I could vaporize,
Soak the air like the low, lowing of cows.
The Lake by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot from The Frick Collection
Rule: Visit The Frick. You just should. Lots of things to inspire.
I really, really thought about titling this "Cows Cows Cows," or "Ink-Cow-Memory Jam," but then I had a bratwurst and I realized that would be absolutely horrible and would drive people to claw their faces off and then try to find me and set me on fire.
Extra rule: Once you've eaten all the bratwurst, there is no more bratwurst. This makes Sandy sad. Like, really sad. Sad enough to create a rule about it.