it is March now. winter hangs on while spring looks on waiting.

the best strawberry is the smallest, not-in-the-garden strawberry that grows between and beneath the grass and tallgrass

Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in cod and beer almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s

refreshing to know there’s still n… that’s unsure of its footing. love that’s unsure of what to do a… standing in the truck head-light g… feeling small

sit in a tunnel fall at the northernmost point trip around the sun.

jump in the truck, and disappear in moments measured in rust, that flakes off in the friction of…

the truck is gone. the truck is scrap. (just that one half of the bumper, just that license plate from Big… everything else is gone.

something feels as though it is at unease because it has not settled.

Fish fry in Benoit. Joyce brings a hundred dollars in… almost right to your mouth and you wonder if it’s just too easy

everyone sees the red-torn deer ca… the mess made dragging her to be shouldered, everyone gawks and shifts the weight of

A stone in the lake old as water. Older than any question. Older than dirt and more stubborn. Round.

tension stretching strings of muscle in the dirt warmth next to wildflowers, my feet stepping in prayers.

like the name says, we were there together. and it wasn’t long before we had built a fire and stargazing became staring down

before you go, things left undone. loose ends, too many to tie so quickly.

the Aurora roared above us and in sweeping, arcing curves mimicked the path of the luge.