Day 855

Memorial Day, somewhere. I say it is only Sunday. I have much work to do here.

Day 848

Ignore the media speculation. My body is numinous, as my spirit. It asks nothing from the German.

Day 842

What shall cure this illness, if not faith?

Day 838

Hives, some infected. I burn reeds to make the allergen paste.

Day 835

Blood on my sheets.

Day 834

The people of the village have a taste for peanuts.

Day 827

Sell a man a peanut and he'll eat for a day. Teach the children, as I do, and they shall eat forever. So it is known.