. What does the night do to us when we sleep with windows open?
. Cold brew + sweetened walnut milk + ice.
. I return to the names of butterflies from last night’s class. Clouded Sulphur, Gray Hairstreak, Pearl Crescent. I hold Fritillary in my mouth, and repeat it over and over.
. To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters. Writing also requires an aching curiosity leading you to discover, uncover, what is gnawing at your bones.
~ When Women Were Birds, Terry Tempest Williams
. Abdomen is still swollen and tender, a physical reminder that release does not come easy.
. A wooden house, in a field of wildflowers. A porch. A dog. How many times will I write this before it is true?
. I consider just roasting the entire head of kale.
. The humidity is high and there are books waiting for me on the HOLD shelf and I’d rather not mingle with strangers tonight.
. The smell of soap.