The best foundations for ‘chemo-face’ problem skin

Cancer takes a lot from a person. I managed to take it in stride when I lost my breasts and my hair, but when my skin exploded, I completely freaked out.

It felt like happened overnight. My face was a mess. I had sores on my scalp.

It was physically painful, and a huge blow to my self confidence after the other trials of cancer.

I managed to get an appointment with a dermatologist almost immediately. I had previously had skin issues linked to an autoimmune condition. (I’m not sure I’m ready yet to go into a lot of detail on this experience, but I was so ill I had to drop a University class.)

I was terrified that my cancer treatment had somehow affected my hormones in a way that meant this earlier experience would be repeating itself. Fortunately, that was not the case, but it still felt absolutely dreadful.

Bye-bye, Bare Minerals

I think Bare Minerals is great and I had been using this as my go-to foundation for about a decade. But apparently, this is a no-no with this kind of acne. The dermatologist told me I should stop using it, and change out the rest of my makeup as well.

Why? The infection in your skin can get transferred to the makeup brush, and you end up painting your face with this over and over.

Powder foundation was out. But I desperately wanted something to help my skin look a bit more normal.

I’ve always loved makeup, and I made it my mission to find the best way to cover this up.

This was in pre-pandemic days, when people could still go to shopping malls. (Doesn’t that feel like a lifetime ago?) My energy was already starting to flag due to treatment, but this was so important to me I found a way to make it happen.

I used the steroid high from my chemotherapy treatments to fuel more than one trip to the shops.

I went to basically every makeup counter, and got samples to try. I tested them all in artificial and natural light, most more than once. I was SERIOUS about this experiment. (These aren’t affiliate links – just my opinion on what’s good.)

The real issue: texture

My selection criteria came almost entirely down to the way it went on, not the shade of the foundation.

When you have a blemish or something you want to cover up, not so hard to cover it with another colour. It’s much harder to mask uneven texture.

With severe skin problems, texture is the bigger problem. The surface is often uneven or peeling in places, and it’s really easy to have the foundation heighten this.

It’s best to get a foundation that matches your skin, but it’s possible to work around a so-so colour match by blending.

However, if it doesn’t go on smoothly, there is literally nothing you can do to compensate for this. (Well, maybe if you’re a professional makeup artist there is, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to crack this nut in the midst of cancer treatment.)

So these recommendations are based on the consistency, which should hopefully be helpful to other people regardless of skin tone.

Some people get really concerned about only using natural products after a cancer diagnosis, but this wasn’t true for me. I completely get where these folks are coming from, but I felt like I had enough things to worry about already. So if this is really important to you, these recommendations probably won’t be so helpful (sorry!).

Winner: Estee Lauder Double Wear Foundation

This was hands-down the winner. It went on so well that even when my skin texture was uneven, it gave a smooth finish. It’s heavy enough to provide really good coverage, but it doesn’t become mask-like.

While it might not match Fenty for shade range (I mean, what does?), it has a pretty wide array, which would make this a good pick for most folks.

Runner up: Charlotte Tilbury Light Wonder Foundation

I really thought this coverage was going to be too light to be effective, but it worked really well. I had a lot of my chemo in the warmer summer months, and having a lighter option in my makeup bag was really welcome.

I used this when my skin wasn’t acting up quite so much and I didn’t feel I needed as heavy of a product.

Again, the smoothness was what made this stand out. Irregularities and dry patches were covered really effectively.

Bonus – Concealer: Studio Finish SPF 35 Concealer

This cream comes in a little pot, and reminds me of stage makeup in a really wonderful way. It’s quite thick and gives really good coverage, but blends out so beautifully that it doesn’t look like you’re actually highlighting your pimples (an unfortunate result for some products).

I used this with both the Estee Lauder and the lighter Charlotte Tilbury foundations to go over problem spots.

(It’s worth noting that you could also use this as foundation in its own right if you are looking for really serious coverage.)

Final thoughts

Makeup did wonders to help my self-confidence during my cancer treatment, but makeup isn’t everything. It’s worth asking for help, not just covering things up.

If your skin is causing you problems during chemo, you don’t just have to suffer in silence. Ask for a referral to a skin doctor if you want to talk through your issues and prescribe medications that may help.

Also, there’s something to be said for letting unhappy skin breathe, so skipping the makeup as often as possible is probably a good idea.

The beauty of who we are as people remains no matter what our faces look like.

If you’re suffering, just remember that it will get better. These skin problems feel like a distant dream – but I’m still really enjoying using the wonderful foundations I discovered. (Plus an occasional dip back into the Bare Minerals, which is now happily back in my makeup bag.)

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Do you want to be seen – or are you trying to be admired?

Art is a process of making things visible. The thing we most often end up making visible is ourselves.

In my earlier days as an artist, I wanted so strongly for the piece to be viewed as separate from me.

Ideally, I wanted to disappear, and have people only see the work.

I didn’t realise this at the time, but this was an immense act of hubris. I was trying to hold myself separate from and above the things that I was creating. I have a lot of empathy for my earlier self – I was trying to protect my heart and my ego, and this mindset allowed me to persevere as a writer.

As I have gotten older, my feelings about the relationship between the artist and the art have shifted. I feel like this connection is something to be celebrated and nurtured. The artist is not their work – but these two things are deeply intertwined.

The things we create are made from us – our minds, feelings, viewpoints, experiences. How can we presume to hold ourselves separate? That need to say ‘that isn’t part of me’ carries whiffs of self-doubt, or in its most severe manifestations, self-loathing.

I ended up going down a little rabbit hole this week, watching a whole bunch of music videos from artists that seem to be straddling the boundary between amateur and professional work. It’s fascinating to look at ones from artists who are clearly talented, but where something hasn’t clicked into place yet.

Obviously production values can make a big difference between artists at this level and true stars, but the biggest thing I noticed was the self-consciousness. I could see some of them wondering, ‘how do I look to the camera’, or moving in ways that felt really practiced. It’s like they were watching themselves from the outside.

The gap that separates the really exceptional artists is this: exceptional artists want to be seen, everyone else wants to be admired.

The desire to be admired is tempting, and leads nowhere but to misery.

I’m speaking from experience here. I did quite a lot of performing as a child, through high school, and then at university. And I found myself often approaching it as something competitive. The goal was to communicate an idea or feeling, sure, but I also had something to prove.

When I sang, I think I was just as concerned whether people would think ‘that is a beautifully sung note’ as I was about singing from my soul. When I wrote a poem, I wanted people to think ‘oh that’s clever’ and wasn’t focusing on being as honesty as the main goal. When I acted in a play, I wanted people to think I was beautiful, and I wasn’t interested in characters that would puncture this facade.

I had no idea how much joy and freedom I was missing out on.

When I would watch the artists whose work touched me most, I would often feel jealous of their seeming abandon and unselfconsciousness. I would try to find it by studying their patterns and motions – not realising this was something that could only be created from the inside.

I didn’t know how to connect with this approach, but it feels like this is finally coming into focus for me through the self-reflective process of this blog.

I kept this blog secret and private for about 18 months because I needed the time to find my own voice and to write without the fear of judgment. But my goal from the start is to allow myself to be seen and known as fully as possible – mostly for Rose.

It has been so liberating to experience this shift in mindset – even though I didn’t realise it was happening at the time. I just kept experiencing more joy and more flow – and when I lost it, I could re-centre by asking myself whether I was being willing to be seen, or whether there was still part of myself that was hiding.

It’s worth saying that trying to be seen doesn’t mean you have to reveal everything or be available and visible all the time. Privacy has its place. Exhibitionism is just as tied up in the need to manipulate others into a response that drives a desire for admiration. I’m not looking for a kind of vulnerability that strips me bare, but instead total presence.

Now, my goal with my work is not to fit into a box of others’ approval. I am still susceptible to this urge, like most people, but I’m working with the artistic process to discover my fullest self and let it be seen.

I’m trying to bring this approach – which grew out of deeply personal writing – more and more into my fictional work. Can I still be as ‘me’ as possible? How much of my heart and soul can I bring into it? Can I let go of my preconceptions of what things should be to create the work that only I can make?

As human beings, most of us spend so much of our lives packaging ourselves to be palatable and appealing to some imaginary societal force. There is nothing wrong with desiring recognition and approval – and the social capital that comes along with this. It’s a pretty basic motivation. But it limits expressiveness.

When we make work, the people are making up their minds about it – in effect judging us. We can go down this rabbit hole of trying to understand and manipulate this response. Or we can refocus on staying inside our own experiences and being our truest selves.

This is what I am reaching towards every day.

Now, when I find myself getting stuck and losing the flow in my work, I reset my compass by asking myself: “Am I trying to be admired, or am I trying to be seen?”

‘Seen’ is by far the richer choice.

Photo by Matthew Ansley on Unsplash


What would our ancestors think
If they could see our palatial homes
Taps with cold and hot water
That doesn’t have to be carried in a bucket

Would they marvel at the microwave
Heating a TV dinner at the press of a button
And the magic of mobile phones
That let us talk to loved ones across the globe

What would endless racks of clothes
In a brightly lit shopping mall look like
To a weaver who has spent her whole life
Hunched over a loom, and in her age
Can no longer make her back or fingers straight

What luxury, they would say, and what temptation

Would the person who once lived in a small hut
On land now occupied by traffic lights and idling cars
Marvel at the power of these amazing machines
Or would he be sad he could not hear the birds?

Photo by Nabeel Syed on Unsplash

The Load

My day is a backpackĀ 
Splitting at the seams
Stuffed to the brim
With countless tasks and dreams

My life tries to struggle on
Teetering from the weight
I cram more time inside it
I’m still somehow always late

Set it down
Look around
Feel the ground

Birds take flight
Because they travel light

Photo by Adam Hornyak on Unsplash

Alanis Morissette’s ‘Such Pretty Forks in the Road’ is a masterpiece (plus: a mini-manifesto on artistic criticism)

This album has been the soundtrack of my pandemic life.

It first came to my attention when my mom sent me this video, which was making the rounds on social media:

This song is called ‘Ablaze’, and it is a manifesto about a mother’s love for her children – declaring ‘my mission is to keep / the light in your eyes ablaze.’

Part of what is so magical about this performance was seeing Morrissette’s music and her motherhood intertwined. The way she invites her daughter into this space – celebrating her as a joyful thing rather than an impediment to work – captures exactly what I want to do in my own artistic life.

After months of lockdown, when most parents I know where (rightfully) talking about how impossible and exhausting it felt to navigate the conflict between parenting and working, this felt like a balm.

This beautiful line of lyric was the one that came to my mind every time I looked at my daughter and thought my dreams for her future. From doing the dishes, to managing tantrums, I found myself repeating it like a mantra, with all that love and ferocity: “my mission is to keep the light in your eyes ablaze.”

I was eleven when ‘Jagged Little Pill’ was released internationally. I remember the shock and the thrill of encountering this voice – striding boldly into emotional terrain I could feel just coming across the horizon of my own life, but which I did not yet have the words to articulate myself.

People talk about Morrissette’s anger, particularly in regard to this breakout album. But it still drives the conversation today. (In fact, the topic line of Rolling Stone’s profile opens with a quote saying ‘I love anger’.)

But focusing on the anger misses the point. What I find so radical and so refreshing is her honesty. The depth of feeling and willingness to express it in such a vulnerable way spoke to millions and millions of young girls.

She has done it again with ‘Such Pretty Forks In The Road’. She has captured exactly what it feels like to navigate motherhood and adult female life – capturing unhealthy stress relief (‘These…are the reasons I drink’), mental health struggles (‘Call it what you want to / ‘Cause I don’t even care anymore / Call it what you need to / To feel comfortable’), and partnership (‘You call it bright / And I call it simple / And somewhere in the middle is truth’).

I absolutely love her lyrics. They are just the right balance of clear and mystical, so you know exactly what she is talking about, but can also so easily read your own life into them.

I was hungry to hear her talk more about the stories behind the songs, how she created the album, and what this work meant in her own life. I wanted the deep dive into the artistic process.

So I googled it, but with disappointing results. There was very little in-depth journalistic engagement with the album… but lots of three star reviews.

I was shocked – had these critics heard the same album I had? This is the album born of the natural maturing and growth of the same voice that once drove ‘Jagged Little Pill’. She was changing, growing as a person, and taking us on that journey.

How did these critics not connect with it the same way I did? I mean, I’m a songwriter – and I was impressed technically as well as emotionally. What was going on – was I losing my touch?

Then I looked at the bylines. And all these reviews were written by men. (And guessing from their names, a very particular kind of white man.)

Some people are amazing at empathising their way into another’s perspective. Others, less so. The best way to control for this is to make sure lots of different voices can be heard. It made me sad once again that there is so little diversity in who has control of the critical conversation.

A piece of art needs to be reviewed by someone from the audience it is intended for.

There is still room for dissenting / contrasting voices. These are important to create a dialogue or point out flaws or blind spots. But they shouldn’t drown out the conversation an artist is trying to have with their intended audience.

If you can’t really speak to whether a song about postnatal depression captures that experience, you shouldn’t situate yourself as a voice of authority about that work.

I know lots of artists with a powerful antipathy to critics. I’m not one of them – I think they are an important part of the artistic ecosystem, and both good and bad reviews have helped me think in new ways about my own work.

But sometimes there is a missing ingredient, where critics don’t understand that not everyone sees the piece the same way they do. (Ex: a critic may hate a play personally, but if the audience is in hysterics, that needs to be acknowledged.)

What I was seeing in these reviews of Morrissette’s album is a bland ‘yeah it’s good but not amazing’ – but the only way they could feel this way is if they don’t understand the currents of life it was written to engage with.

I wish both the interviewers and the critics had engaged with Morrissette about her intentions – they might have better understood how beautifully this album fulfilled them.

And I also wish, on a purely human level, that they had managed to look a little bit outside of themselves.

As women get more opportunities to make art, we are encountering a critical establishment that isn’t always ready for us. It hasn’t yet learned how to engage with and understand this work.

I hope we get to hear from a wider range of critics and connoisseurs. And I hope the current gatekeepers take the opportunity to think about why they hold the opinions they do, and take the risk of looking beyond them.

This album may not have connected with the men reviewing it. But if they had asked their wives or sisters, they might have heard a different story.

In summary – the critics got this one really, really wrong.

THANK YOU Alanis for creating tracks that gave me energy and inspiration, that saw me in my darkness and struggles, and are just brilliant songs in their own right.

Your music has kept me going during this pandemic, and for that I will be forever grateful.

Why most household management advice doesn’t work

I have read a lot of books about personal development, productivity, organisation, home management, and so on, in my attempts to wade through adult life.

I’ve managed to pick up a lot of good tips over the years.

I think it’s fantastic that there is even more content like this on TV – Queer Eye, Tidying Up with Marie Kondo, The Home Edit.

I absolutely love self-help. There is almost always an insight that helps me look at the world or my life in a new way – even when the topic doesn’t feel obviously relevant to my life, or I think the author’s approach is a bit off the wall.

But when it comes to actually seeing improvements or changes that feel like they make my life easier or better… well, let’s just say I quickly find myself looking for the next book to solve my problems.

I’ve wondered why this is. Is there a problem with me? With the system? Well, surely the next title will have the answer.

But as I’ve been reflecting more on how I’m organising my life, I’ve felt that there are some common issues why the systems and techniques that seem so inspired (even foolproof!) in these books don’t seem to solve my problems.

Most household management advice is written by people who are good at it.

The experts are brilliant. But they’re too good at what they do.

People are different – and the kind of person who keeps a spotless house probably can’t understand what it feels like to spend an hour having an internal debate over whether or not to keep a bag full of bags.

Sometimes it is dangerous to take advice from someone who is really good at the thing you are trying to do. Their viewpoint is so different that they can’t understand what it’s like to be struggling

Most self-help books are written for individuals, but the problems belong to families.

It makes complete sense that most of this kind of advice is written for the consumption of an individual reader. But most of us live with other people. (And even folks who live alone can find their relationships affecting the efficacy of this kind of household advice.)

It makes me think of what a revelation family systems therapy must have felt like when it first appeared. It was radical to focus on how people function in relationship rather than just an individual being psychoanalysed in isolation. (I am not a therapist, so please excuse the generalisations!)

I feel like a similar approach is needed for how we run our domestic lives.

It is true that we cannot change other people – but a family home is a shared environment. No system is going to work unless everyone is on the same page.

Epiphany is not the same thing as action.

It’s easy to mistake the lightbulb moment for the moment of change.

These books are packed with wise words, and it’s easy to get excited by new insight and possibility. I know this feeling all too well. Somehow it feels like by reading the book, I have done the the work – but I haven’t really, I’ve just added another title to my reading list.

The real magic isn’t taking in information – it’s actually putting it into action.

So now what? It’s time to be honest with myself.

I think part of why I read so many of these books is chasing the high of the next epiphany.

It starts to feel like if I just find the right expert answer everything will fall into place. But our lives are actually made of the things we can do (and want to do) every day.

Looking outwards for these ideas – rather than engaging in focused introspection about the kind of action that is realistic for my life – is missing the point.

I have no intention of giving up my self-help reading habit. (I love it too much.) But what I’m really looking for now is a way to work around these pitfalls.

Different people need different strategies.

Figuring out how we negotiate change with our loved ones is as important as the changes themselves.

And accepting ourselves and the truth about our own priorities is key to adapting brilliant ideas to our actual lives.

Photo by David Lezcano on Unsplash

Chicken Swimming

Oh yeah, he said, you just
Drop them right in.
Excellent exercise, swimming.
Good for the joints.

The surface of the pond
Was still and clear
Except for a single
Feather floating

But won’t they drown?

He smiled.
That’s what I’ve got
This pole here for,
To fish them out
After a good workout.

You see,
The tricky part isn’t
The swimming.
Those scrawny legs
Have a powerful kick.

The problem for chickens
Is getting wet.
Once those feathers
Start to gather water
It’s only a matter
Of time until
The weight pulls
Them under
For good.

Then why do you do it?

It was the chickens’ idea,
If you can believe it.

A few of them
Came out the coop
One morning and
Saw a duck sitting
Sitting on the pond.

The chickens thought,
I reckon I can
Do that.
Who was I
To tell them
They couldn’t?

They hopped right
In and headed
Straight for that duck.

Well. Wow.

Yeah, it was a
Wild duck.
Sat there watching
This clump of chickens
Coming right at it.

What happened when they met?

Those chickens were
Fast they got probably
About 5, 10 feet

The thing is
Chickens can swim
But they can’t fly.

That duck was
Like a superhero
To those chickens.

I put them back
In the coop to
Dry off.

Some of them were
Feeling pretty sorry
For themselves.
So I reminded them
At least they were
Tucked in with
Their friends.
That duck
Was flying all alone.

That’s a lovely point.

Well I thought so.
I just hope they don’t
Discover geese.

Note: For some unknown reason, in the earliest stages of waking up this morning I was visited by this phrase of chicken swimming, with the image of a farmer standing by a pond holding this large pole. I thought this was doomed to be a rather disturbing tragedy, but I was amazed to discover that chickens can in fact swim!

Photo by Dan Schneemann on Unsplash

January 1 is the wrong day to start new year’s resolutions

Why do we start our resolutions on January 1st?

A far more auspicious time to start new endeavours would be on the first new moon of the new year.

I came across the information this week that most people don’t make it past January 19th with their new year’s resolutions.

I’m not surprised. I’ve been feeling myself how our hopes for ourselves and the practicalities of our lives don’t always align.

I had a long awaited project that I was excited to take on this year: Home Ec for the Modern Human. My approach wasn’t so much a resolution as an intention to finally make room to engage with these ideas and questions.

And yet, when it came time to begin, I felt a kind of inertia.

The calendar said January 1st – that must mean ‘ready to begin’, right?

But this wasn’t a time of beginning in the world around us.

Not yet…

It was only last night that it really clicked why…

We ignore the cycles of nature at our peril.

Last year, my mother got me a beautiful journal (sadly, not available anymore) that showed the cycles of the moon.

I loved seeing the little pictures on design of each month, showing me what was happening in the sky. I often couldn’t see it with my own eyes, due to heavy clouds, bright city lights, or the fact that it’s so easy to fail to look up.

It made me realise how little I thought about the moon, or the energy shifts in the world around me.

We are conditioned to respond to the layouts of calendars created in reference to the sun, with designations and divisions created by humans.

But if the moon affects the tides, the light that reaches our world, and women’s cycles, is it so crazy to think it is affecting us too?

Personally, I adore astrology, even though I am also a total skeptic about using it to forecast one’s future. I love reading my horoscope, but would be reluctant to live my life by it.

But you don’t have to be an astrology buff to think about more about how to work with these natural rhythms.

This year, I decided to embrace my curiosity about the moon, and to be more aware of what is happening in the sky above me. I ordered a diary that shows what is happening with the moon each day. (Sold out now, sorry!)

And it just so happens that right now the moon is waning.

This means that it is a time for reflection, for drawing inwards, for considering things in stillness.

Probably not the best time to launch on action oriented new projects.

No wonder I have been feeling the need to gather my thoughts and resources, and to wait. My anxiety-driven compulsion to push ahead was swimming against the tide – quite literally.

But things are about to change.

The new moon is coming.

This Wednesday (13 January 2021) marks the arrival of a new moon – the Wolf Moon, according to my diary.

I can feel my energy focusing – ready to sent intentions and to begin.

So this is when I’m going to try to begin this project for myself.

This realisation has actually made me reconsider the whole structure of this project.

I was hoping to tackle different categories each month, but it seems so much more appropriate to tie things to lunar flow for an experiment that is about domestic life and things that are traditionally women’s work.

You haven’t missed your chance.

If you’re despairing about failing your new year’s resolution, it is not too late – maybe you were simply starting at the wrong time.

The year truly turns over with the first new moon of January.

I hope I can remember this for next year in 2022 – when the novelty and buzz of the new year feels hot and fresh. To wait, to take a moment, to look at what is happening in the world, as well as my won goals, and see if there is away to try to synchronise these together.

Plus it’s worth remembering, there is a new moon every month.

The cycle of reflection and regneration is ongoing.

It’s never too late to make a resolution.

It’s never too late to try something new.

Photo by Mark Tegethoff on Unsplash

Insomnia companion, part 6: The Hallway

You find yourself
In a a long hallway
You walk and walk
The distant door
Feels like it will never
Draw closer

Then suddenly, your hand
Is on the knob
You turn it and walk through

And find yourself
In another hallway
You can just see the door
On the horizon line
You push forward
With every bit of energy
Making no progress

Until all at once
You feel the cold metal
Under your fingers
You twist

And you find yourself
Yet again
In an endless hallway
Doors upon doors
Leading to more
Empty passages
Dim and eerily blank

There is only one way
Or so it seems

You keep chasing
The exit
But there is always
Another hallway
Another door

You may not be able
To find your way out

But you don’t
Have to keep

If you like
On the smooth
Stone floor
Rest awhile
Lean your back
Against the featureless wall

Watch the shadows

Sing a song and
Hear your own voice
Echo richly

Draw a picture
With your pinky finger
In the dust
Gathered in the corners

You can walk again
When you’re ready
You can climb the walls
But only if it feels
Like fun

Have you been trying
So hard to get
Through the door
That you have forgotten
To feel the weight
Of your own body?

Stretch out your legs
Let those muscles recover

And the next time
You reach the threshold
Squeak the door open
The tiniest crack
And linger in that
Place of possibility

Maybe on the other side
Of this door
There will be
Something different?

What does your
In that liminal space?

Note: Last night, I found myself standing in this hallway, curious to see where it would lead. But I think I know why this happened.

Of all the poems in Caroline Bird’s ‘The Air Year’, the one I find myself turning over in my mind when I cannot sleep is Dive Bar. I feel like its echoes are still working their way through my mind and my body? It is sheer brilliance. What does it mean to have reality fold in on itself, over and over again? Where do we get trapped in our own minds – and is there any escape?

Photo by Hugues de BUYER-MIMEURE on Unsplash

Insomnia companion, part 5: The Sponge

You might think
That the thing
Underneath your head
Is a pillow

But maybe
It is a sponge

It slowly soaks up
The worries
Of the day

Your anxieties trickle
Down the back
Of your neck
Out of the base
Of your skull
While you stare
At the ceiling
In the watchful darkness

Or perhaps
Everyday stresses
Dribble slowly
Out of your ear
Drip, drip, drip
Every so slowly
Wetting your spongepillow
As they are released

For some folks
The flow is fast
Their head
Hits the pillow
And at once there is
A quick let-down
Of easy, effortless flow

Some of us
Take a little bit longer
Some worries
Need time
To weep
Their way out

It would be easier
If things would go quickly
But feelings flow
At their own rate

There is no rush
To make the waters
Of your brain
(Which looks curiously
Like a sponge, doesn’t it?)
Run clear and free
Remember that
The most beautiful
Stalactites are formed
One droplet at a time

For now
Just lie back
And feel the support
Of the sponge
Wicking away
Your disquiet

Photo by NOAA on Unsplash