Hospitality

In the youth of the Midwestern autumn, in the sweet-smelling and the golding warmth, I sleep on Nuch's sofa and then on the left side of her bed. She lays a spread to share with me before her afternoon classes. Dried figs and blueberries, coconut milk with molasses...

She is living on the ground floor of an old Victorian, a cool and shaded space where they have tacked two-yard cuts of fabric over their door frames in place of doors. When they open the windows, the house is filled with their drifting.