20 April 2026
I keep encountering stars. Glow-in-the-dark stars at the dollar store (have gifted them to friends for their studios and there's one in mine), the Big Dipper scooping the sky between Yena's flat and her neighbors' building when walking up the steep driveway to her door after her evening shift, the wrapping paper (navy with yellow stars) Ruba used for my birthday gift, the rainbow whirligig I found in Wood Green, and most recently, a sort of wireframe star sculpture in the window of a flat I saw from the second deck of a bus I was on while passing through Denmark Hill. It was almost pressed against the glass like a prisoner, and at its base was what appeared to be a pile of clothes that receded into darkness. I printed the photo I took from my printer, which is low on black ink, so it printed as basically an inverse image. That made it look like a giant star-shaped wind turbine beginning to disintegrate while looming over a mountainous landscape.