There have been tornadoes and such, severe thunderstorms, big life decisions, brothers faltering with drug addiction recovery, visiting in-laws, near-nervous breakdowns and sudden sunny realizations; found and killed terrorists, monopolized radio-days, Canadian elections and other things political (Trump's hair, Obama's stand-up comedy); finally, there was the West Wing to finish, books to read (
The Ticking Is The Bomb, by Nick Flynn,
The People's History of the United States, by Howard Zinn) and old friends to email and be forgiven by: many reasons why one does not need to browse the web for inspiration. For when it stirs and breeds in your own backyard you have no need for others' divine thoughts and visual stimulation. That said, much is settling down now. And so I may peek in and out from time to time.
(above, my favorite goldsmith, David Neale)__
Also, Abbott started walking. He's a little boy. We look at him in his crib at night and wonder where he's fallen to, our small baby grown up so tall. He tries to talk. He eats solid food. He has two new teeth. I can hardly understand it all. Our cats have become outdoor cats. Our porch is covered in plants from a local greenhouse. A neighbor and I dug a plot, planted a garden. Thunderstorms come every few nights and I'm always totally frightened.
(top: moth pin by Warwick Freeman, via David Neale; other photographs by Jessica Williams of Paperheart)
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