getting over a migraine; the tightness and wrong-feeling in my back, neck and shoulders make bike riding less of a joy. but not as bad this morning as yesterday.

riding on a cracked pedal, secured with tape (the bike is 17 years old and I love it to bits, literally), down the hill past the calling wild beasts at the zoo. a fine mist draped like a curtain from the clouds to the west; a hint of brightness on the country visible behind them; thought of an art student I shared a school studio with once, who made those dark scratches of rain with a fine-tipped needle. they never reach the ground, those rainfalls. they just hang there, dark and purple from the clouds.