I returned home from Southern California where we moved my grandparents into a new apartment. It was boxes and lifting and sorting and pictures and stories and stories and stories. Stiff upper lips and long lungful sighs. After a nine hour drive with my Ma to my favorite county, I tried to return to my writing desk (a kitchen table that looks out on the oaks, with one particular finch that looks in on me). But, the brain kept swirling. And so I went for a walk in the valley. Made some big wishes for some good things. I made some wishes for you, too.
The fish looked thick and fat in Lake Sutton. And the summer boys and girls were out with their bright striped towels, fishing poles, dirt bikes, and early summer crushes on one another. They nodded sweetly as I went passed and I noticed I was no longer one of them.
The rattlesnake grass is sneaky on the hillside and you can hear its yellow tremble in the wind. There are so many things to love in this world. Oh, how to balance this living and dying we do. How to be quiet long enough to hear yourself breathe, and how to foster that long loud echo inside of you that keeps returning and returning the world.
The fish looked thick and fat in Lake Sutton. And the summer boys and girls were out with their bright striped towels, fishing poles, dirt bikes, and early summer crushes on one another. They nodded sweetly as I went passed and I noticed I was no longer one of them.
The rattlesnake grass is sneaky on the hillside and you can hear its yellow tremble in the wind. There are so many things to love in this world. Oh, how to balance this living and dying we do. How to be quiet long enough to hear yourself breathe, and how to foster that long loud echo inside of you that keeps returning and returning the world. 
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