yale
13 April 1999

Gothic stone emerging from thick green lawns littered with blossoming fruit trees. A sky the color of its namesake Crayola... the few clouds that appear hang low, waiting to be plucked. My seat at a round table crowded among bookshelves is right off the page of a book I read long ago and I wonder if that adds to or subtracts from the magic. A cafe au lait when I wanted a hot apple cider. Lacking sleep and sense of time... longing for clean hands and Van Gogh's Night Cafe.