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 This beautiful life:

orange hued at sunset

soft

and rime laden at dawn

sun, sun, sun,

the first sweet blossoms

and a ghost of fall

the borderland

then

home

and a man who cooks.

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Furry

 

 

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Thursday Things

Taken in that golden hour when everything feels right. I talked to Maren earlier, the fullness of my heart still shining. I rowed in the basement, the low light of autumn dancing through the trees and in my eyes. Blaring Strange Days on the hi-fi as I stretched on the stairs, I caught the glimmer of glass shards, remnants of Tuesday’s broken bottle. One hollow bounce before shape shifting.

Birds and cats beckoned, more of that exquisite light, too, crowding the tight spaces before a bounteous explosion. I ate cereal and read, squinting. Rain is coming.

Silence reigns and is filled with all that I cannot capture. This softness, this gratitude, this love.

 

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Meow…

 

 

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It’s a rather happy and chill Sunday, my favorite “soft” Radiohead tunes playin’ on the hi-fi, singing, typing, the hubster working next to me, the cats on their respective cushions. We’re all fine here; how are you? Even a little nod to Han Solo. Indeedy.

So, photos. I’m a little snapper, like Pecker, maybe, but not quite. John Waters is an odd bird. I’m doing our weekend back to front, Memento style, maybe, with less confusion, at least I hope.

First, two minutes ago. The office/yoga studio, though you’ll see below that I am not afraid to bust a move in the kitchen. You’ll also see that we need to remove some bolts from shelves long gone and get a new layer of paint on the walls. No worries though, we’re on the fifty year plan. Chipping away.

That’s a Checker hood emblem, a 1978 to be precise. The owner of said automobile came out for a chat, hollering “Yoo-hoo!” after I snapped my photo. I don’t know which was better, spotting the car or having someone holler yoo-hoo like it was the Fifties. I told you it was an awesome day.

We saw this magnolia a few blocks before the Checker, and it wrapped us up in its scent, happy as Christmas.

Moss grows everywhere in these parts, everywhere.

Just in case you need a direction.

Or to feel safe. I’ve got you covered.

Our walk brought us here, two hungry bellies to magnetic north.

It’s a fine place to find yourself on a Sunday afternoon.

Right after you’ve gone bowling.

Or taken flight.

Or heard some siren song.

After an old school fill-up.

It’s all about balance, after all.

And not kicking the dishwasher.

While protecting your bacon from predators.

After a fine evening with friends and their adorable children, epic eating and catching up on the little bits that make a life.

And mixing their chalk art with ours.

Sitting in the warmth of the sun, listening to birdsong and a purring cat.

 

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