'Coconut Dawn of the Delicious Evilness of Surprise Blackberries'

Coco (as in Coconut Dreamin', Ruby Slipper, Dirty Blackberry Maven, Dawn, etc.) showed up at my house at one in the  morning a few days ago.

She's trekking solo across the US to make photos on both sides of the camera.

Rather, I should write that she is seeing the landscape and the weather change, comparing desserts between Nashville and New Orleans, wearing as many colorful wacky sunglasses as the days (and nights) allow and charming the pants off of people (sometimes literally: me, for instance). 

Photography is only the surface level excuse.

Point being, I've had to work my regular job every day since she's been here. And yet, we've still shared pizza, late-night conversations about nymphomania's link to feminism, half-caffeinated coffee, the dogwalking duties, blackberries and pomegranates, glimpses into the erotic life of an Italian porn star, incredible photography work, private looks at beautiful boys and the making of a few photographs. 

She leaves tomorrow. She's left behind (already) a collection of artifacts that are handmade and stapled and written upon and full of love and joy (of which she seems sorta endless). 

Today's the only day we have (with daylight!) on her visit. I have tentatively scheduled our entire twenty-four hours, including nothing that can't be cancelled/forgone/lost to the bliss of something else, of course. 

Last night, when I should have been deep asleep, we were nonstop sharing/chatting/looking/idea-finding -- literally talking for ten minutes while standing right by the room to my bedroom door. Finally, before we shared one more One Last Thing, I had to make myself go to bed. It's always torturous to leave behind good company for sleep, especially when your company's on a time limit.

Nothing says the Present like the coming of the Past.

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Sorry for tying up this lovely experience with a poetic grammar bow.

I didn't mean to do it. It just types itself sometimes.