a quick straightening up

blowing smoke out the window only for it to come back to you

I've been following myself around, retracing footsteps and coming across different little piles of identities. Psychic holds of thought, if I think about it one more time maybe I can find a new way to reckon with it, the devil's at my heels, nipping-- you can find a way to justify anything.

(deer have finally figured out a way into the garden, each morning a new investigation of what they’ve decided to munch on)

Im growing my hair out— plucked out a strand that I thought had turned white, instead ended up being golden, going invisible in the glow of afternoon light.

Ive been emerging out of deep slumber, sometimes sleeping in til 10AM, eventually I reach an arm out to pull the curtain back towards me— wonder the sky will be blue or grey. The second fire of the season is making it’s way through mismanaged acres, I wonder about the obvious correlation between lack of indigenous knowledge and poorly planned burned days.

Lemon balm has gone to seed. I wondered if people know how to read cursive.

A working list of good feelings: fresh sheets, open windows-- the surprise call from an old friend, fresh cut up watermelon, a found note on a crumpled receipt, pulling a weed out and getting down to the root, long and meandering conversations that keep track of all the stories, plans for a bike ride, the quiet of 10PM.