I've receded again, the rain came pounding this morning like it's October, not August. My head is pounding today, some combination of dehydration and eye strain, barometric pressure and tension. Am I holding my breath for a reason or just because.

I read a recipe that calls for turbinado sugar and a blowtorch.

Something inside finds composition tedious right now and I can't be bothered. I can see how the light stretches across the water and the trees brace and bend in the gusting blustery wind, I see how the banks stumble into the river, and I can't see the edges, the sections to box it in, to trap it in some basic rule of thirds. It's not always necessary to reduce a thing, to fit it in a frame, not always possible.

I've used blowtorches, I've fabricated metal. The best by far was the oxy-acetylene cutting torch, a big blast of white and blue fire two feet long that I could use to cut inch-thick steel. The sound of it alone made me want to cut everything in the room, the stool legs, the workbench, the scrap metal piled in the corner. No need for composition. Just heat like you wouldn't believe.