Dream log, early 2026, in which I don’t need the nightly reminder that this isn’t the future I looked forward to but thanks I guess
1 January
My grandfather kept notes on his beehives: heat and mites and bloom and yield. They read like warnings now, but I remember rolling my eyes every time he got out the notebook. I just wanted to burn pine needles in the smoker.
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Forthcoming December 2026, in MAYDAY: An Aotearoa Call to Action