Thursday

Sideritis syriaca

Greek Mountain Tea and bloody finger tips. I am suddenly nocturnal.
I fall asleep at five in the morning and wake up at two or three. Or four. Or five.
& I smith all night. All night. I am the sober, nocturnal silversmith.
Drinking mountain tea by the gallon.

Seven of my fingers are bleeding. From files, snips, saws, edges, hammers.
I sleep on the couch. I've slept on the couch for almost a year now. With
the lights on. Mountain tea. Ironwort. I seem to be getting younger.

Went to the beach and shot arrows at the moon at three in the morning. Lost three arrows.

I made a set of copper runes. And an antler ring. And a chainmail necklace with wisdom teeth and bear claws. The tea is best hot, with honey or lemon or both. It smells like field flowers; tansy and chickory and horsetail and pineapple weed. Like lemon and metal. Strong.

My fingers are bleeding. Time for a salt bath. I can't believe it's dark already.

I haven't seen daylight in three days. At least.

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