Sequence

Sequence: a rather beautiful word.
Some things were rolling around in the head today, but the recollection may or may not precisely render the sequence in which the thoughts occurred.
Staring at the top of a fountain. (That would be, the water spouting up, splashing against the sky.)
New: Night of the Hunters.
Have to think of Hunter by Bjork.
(But I had heard Hunter! Before I knew it was by Bjork. Some woman sang, like kind of a lounge/jazz singer version of it...oh it could give you chills...when you're driving in rural Michigan at night at the end of a long road trip. What the hell radio station played that...local? A signal from Canada? No I could not have made that up. I need to go back there...)
But Hunter by Bjork...there's a bear in it.
Bear stuff again.
Once in a while, bear stuff happens.
Like that time I was talking about needing a new fetish for a necklace.
To replace the broken foot turtle.
A few minutes later, a man asked us to roll down the window.
Said he was Zuni.
This was in Gallup, I think.
Wanted to show us bear fetishes.
I couldn't buy one.
"I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you. Good luck."
Dreamed about him and some other people that night.
They talked about me.
There was something very weird in the interaction.
It made me dream about people talking about me.
Not bad talking either.
Not resentful talking.
But "that was mysterious, that was weird."
That kind of talk.
Like there was this woman who talked to me on the Michigan farm when I was 16 and told me I was pretty when I didn't feel pretty and then she left and it seemed no one but me had seen her, but she was a flesh and blood woman and it wasnt' even mysterious until I read the journal entry years later and it was like...
what was that...
a goose drank from the fountain.
First it dipped its head in the pool
then arched its neck and looked at the top of the spray
It repeated the action several times.