Sufjan, Wine, Friend.

Mike and I are sitting in his lounge by the fire, drying our wet clothes after being caught in the rain in the middle of Fremantle. Sufjan Stevens's "For the windows in Paridise, for the fatherless in Ypsilanti" swoons. A bottle of Annies Lane half gone. Missing our good friend. the rain is drissling outside, the wind is making the branches of trees brush against the window and scrape the glass. My feet are freezing, my hair is falling in chunks around my face. It's quite lovely to be in this state. You become quite human. Being quiet and cold and with someone you care about, so you don't have to talk. Just listen.

The cat is asleep.
The wooden boat outside is waiting for the summer.

This weather is......roaring in the night.