Ten.Nineteen

1. The way the sun makes the prairie grass on the berm glow.

2. The peppers are beginning to drop. Every morning I am peering beneath the leaves, searching for new growth.

3. It's amazing how much you choose not to do when there is so much that needs to be done. 

4. The edges of the gladiolas are browning and withering away. 

5. Everyone should have a person in their life with whom they can communicate using only bitmojis. Because some days only words won't do.

6. The coordinating of time. How we are constantly trying to fold it and stretch it and bend to it.

7. Cherries. Sanguine. Fingers stained and dripping. 

8. Their laughter. 

9. The smell of roasted tomatoes and garlic. The scent of the rosemary. Smoked salt. Yeast.

10. The way the storms drove in. Hard, fast, and heavy. The way we flung open the door to rescue toppled plants, the sage too heavy for me to move. The white streak from cloud to road.