January 8, 2025

A bluebird perched on Sweetboi’s branch. Which pleased the branch more? The branch reorganizes, re-projects itself according to who’s perched upon it. 

Rose yesterday and wrote in the dark before morning. Morning was a long time coming, but when it came, the east went purple-gray. 

Bluebirds and robins still thronging. I don’t know exactly what to do for them. Maybe I already did it by not raking the leaves. 

Resolved to visit M in Mission Hospital. It has been thirty years since I was there, and I'd forgotten how dauntingly enormous the place is. I parked at the exact farthest corner from the place I was meant to be, so I wandered through the mass of it. Reminded me of the several times I worked in hospitals. M was having a procedure and not in his room. I waited for an hour, but he didn’t come back, so I went on my way. He is so sick the presence of a visitor might not have been a pleasure anyway. Security is tighter at the hospital than I remember, or would have imagined. One is photographed, IDed, watched suspiciously in the corridors. That did allow me to ask directions quickly on those several occasions where I found myself lost. The view from the hospital windows is spectacular, frosty blue mountains rolling into the distance.