The wave of a hairdo?

An adult tooth?

The American flag as a fixture upon the moon?

The markers, with which Jeb has a fistful, sketching with the Muse at the kitchen table while I quickly slide an underlay beneath his renderings?

Some kind of press cycle on the washing machine I never use?

A type of vacation that’s the title of a Jim Jarmusch movie, an Aerosmith album, and a getaway that I will doubtfully attain at such length in this lifetime?

A resident?

As in, the Bohemian. Whose foreign-born body has been granted the card – more sci-fi holographic, than green – that says he gets to stay. With conditions, that is.

A resident with conditions.

Like us all.

Impermanence is a principle of harmony. When we don’t struggle against it, we are in harmony with reality. – Pema Chodron