But it was a pleasant day, not really one that required a sweater. I had one on most of the day anyway because I slept in it. Sweet dreams on a couch last night, away from home. A lot of short white doggie hairs decorate it now, one of my oldest sweaters.

Back home, sitting cross-legged on the back porch, I note the blue skies, birdsong, a yellow butterfly flapping by, think this world is fine. I'd take my sweater and hang it on the coatrack, but it's not really making me uncomfortably hot anyway. I leave it on and marvel at colors and sounds.

A day later, a sweater's crumpled on my bookbag. I have to laugh at life and the day's quirks. Still no coatrack, but I scarcely care upon arriving home. Sweater wound up being an accessory, unnecessary. Day was warm, beautiful. Quirks abound during beautiful days. I can count the several on one hand then start on another...

A final quirk even as I mention that, and slow dive to sleep begins. The coatrack obsession takes on different forms and guises. I see a sweater hanging on a tree. I see a tree that grows sweaters, drifting to dreams that confuse the matter with the essence, churn up variations from subconscious fires and run with them.

I had to turn the air conditioning on tonight. Does that make the coatrack more or less relevant?