A moment of truth, describing the joyous mahem of unsure certainty, and his response; it's like someone who has a rock in their shoe for a really long time and is trying to kick it out...it comes out when it's ready
The smell of mold and the squeak of whiteboards in the condemned house where you entrusted your turtle and your heart to a cabal of scientists and mathematicians
The pantone 17-1462X sunset between Orcas and Sucia Islands with a boat full of bluetooth speakers, wet wood, tired hippies, and tireless communications antennas
These pearls of night stranded on the neck of a stiffly arched morning, teeth baring like beggars at the pearly gates, a grim nod to latticework and lacingbones, musky terroir, feint rituals of a cove apart -- these blue-black shiners that recede at dawn
The scene at her apartment when I was sent on that wellness check, me naively arriving with flowers and a bottle of wine. Feeling relief and guilt when I moved to the opposite coast. Getting that call. Flying to New England in the dead of winter, when the ground was so frozen they couldn't bury the coffin for months. The cognitive dissonance of J and her notebooks vs. "sister S. daughter of Jesus" at the funeral. We almost stood up to speak. I know now it's good we didn't
A soft touch, a gentle, half muttered "meh." Her furry tail brushes across my lips as she tells me that it's time to eat.
A moment: We curl up. Soft, safe, warm. The party continues below, the weird mixes getting better as the night goes on and the DJ gets lazier. The smells from the potluck downstairs make odd combinations as they cool and combine, from the succulent to the sick.
an ornate stone staircase, almost hidden among trees, branches forming the ceiling of a forgotten tunnel. (Incongruously, a steel mailbox - is this route still active?) We discuss the nature of grief
The not-unpleasant degaussing grey-out zap in my brain that characterizes a stimulus-evoked absence seizure, brought on by stimuli as desperate as a particular shade of pink or the smell of warm popcorn kernels.
The ecstasy of dancing for the first time with no self-consciousness or fear, under the glow of jewel-toned LEDs and an open desert sky, in public, despite 6 years of classical ballet's best effort as a foundation for all creative movement to erase this ability.