Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety
1. Thursday. It's Thursday?
2. Water, water, water. Both myself and the lawn. And the birds. I love to watch them dance in the drips that fall from the sprinkler. Afterwards they come through and eat bugs and other things. They are so close to me that I can often see that their beaks are full.
3. Three red tomatoes in the windowsill.
4. The lilies are dying and that's okay. I'll buy fresh flowers on Saturday.
5. Very little feels like it's under my control and that feels uncomfortable. But today is better than yesterday.
6. I had forgotten how pretty this place is. And it's the perfect day to rest in the shade at the park while the kids play. We catch up on life. The oldest baby puts red dirt and rock into my hand. We both think it's interesting that the character, a young child, refuses to reveal a gender identity and how curious the theme is in a book so old. We talk about neither of us have looked up jacqueranda or sand verbena.
7. I have only a few more hours before I need to start dinner. I grab Braiding Sweetgrass so that I can finish up the last few chapters. I settle into my chair in the alcove with a large mason full of water at my feet. I will miss this space, this tiny corner of refuge.
8. "Language is our gift and our responsibility." - Braiding Sweetgrass
9. It's a tiny two-person booth and it's not too crowded. We split prawns, falafel, bacon jam crostini, some cheeses with an apricot chutney. We split our lives. It's hard to leave.
10. The moon is almost full and so bright that you almost don't need any other light. It's hard to watch both it and the road.