today the sky is a reflection of itself, the bank of clouds pushed to the hills, the double rainbow that contours the dome. we are living here, in this awkward space, in the place where thursday and friday meet. i climb up and into the steps of a small contained world, up and into the smell of myself and condensation. i carry things that weigh at my palms, that are tangled there and there is smiling. this morning i brew coffee and there is a sun shower, and i am trying to find the straightness of my back amongst these people. this is such a new negotiation. i am the outline of a shape, coloured in roughly, overlapped. the lines that rest outside the lines, the contradiction of form there. but amongst the hypocrisy of all of this, there is the broken shape of diane's hands, the music the cleaner listens to as he scrubs the empty school. the catching of eyes of giprock, the dancing through the kitchen with people i don't know. amongst the newness of this there is sorrow, too, the sudden realisation of distance, the way in which i have to wait until 10pm. i am farther away than i have ever been i think, from myself, from everyone. but then i walk through the rain and it is okay. then i taste the shape of the newly formed clouds, and it is beautiful. there have been so many stories from these first few days, and i will tell them.