PAUL CHRISTENSEN

The nausea I felt is coming back. I thought I had conquered it by taking long walks in the country, among the sloping hills and grassy velour that has taken over the winter deserts. I relished the trembling uncertainty of the pond just below the house, where I once saw an otter splashing around. The air was pure, and crisp as a stalk of celery. I felt the moon's breath on my shoulders. I had a very good sense that I was not walking at all, but floating over the little dandeli