Indefinite

A week ago I dropped a window box fan out of our second story window in the middle of the night. Two nights ago I dropped my phone into a cup of jasmine tea. Then I climbed a mountain and found a bird guarding her nest, which was built into the giant wheels of an abandoned bulldozer.

Sometime it seems like events crochet themselves to each other to make some sort of meaningful pattern.


 I second guess myself.




        What’s actually going on here is Russian Roulette.


It’s been a rainy June in Montana. The downside to that is that we miss the sun. The upside is that the house is cool, breezy: we can use our oven.

We ignored the rain and ate in the sun. We topped layers of phyllo with pesto, goat, cheese and tomato and baked it. We turned home-canned salmon into salmon cakes served with a lemon basil white sauce. We dressed our mixed green, carrots, and cashew salad with a flax oil vinaigrette. We drank an oaky Chardonnay and toasted everyone. We were momentarily sentimental and ridiculous without regret.


We’ve been gone for awhile. Things are indefinite.