Two rams sit in peace separated by 10 gauge cattle panels. I can see the dents in them from earlier this spring where they butted heads through the fence. Something white hot and stupid has faded from their eyes in the heat of summer, but not forever. No. A smell will return to the air in the lengthening coolity of October nights. They will sniff that air with an upturned lip, turn toward each other, and ram and ram and ram and ram and woe be it to anyone who gets between them. #smallstories
@MicroSFF The agenda here is heartening: every time someone says there is no hope, balance it out with something hopeful. And the doing-over-saying is so crucial.
@wentale The LMS way--submit and fergit. Such ugliness to face for you: anticlimax, odd, forced, nearly-fake. Is this the online threshold our students cross constantly?
Our water comes from a well in a very clean watershed. We have never been able to afford automatic waterers in the field for our sheep so we bring water to them in buckets every day. There are good and bad parts of this job. The best one is that after filling 50 gallons of buckets the water is cold like it came from a cave. I thrust my arm into the last bucket. So cold. A healing cold. This water is a balm. Our sheep suck it down like there will be no more of it....ever. #smallstories
(26) Smooth Criminal M.Jackson à l'orgue de barbarie - YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fnb7EqfykF4 Holy Handgrenade of Antioch just listen and marvel out the labor of love that this means. #clmooc
We're on different sides of the line, waiting to get on the plane. He points to the book. "Calypso? Any good?" I look down at the new David Sedaris book, which I've halfway finished after one leg of the trip. "Yes, but it seems a bit darker, deeper," I say, after a pause, mulling over a book review in casual conversation. The man nods. "I think his earlier stuff is better than his later stuff," the man replies. "But, you know, I'll read anything he writes." I do. #smallstories #amreading
A boy, no more than five, jumped in front of me at the grocery store.
He'd wandered from his mother. Not far enough to be out of sight, but far enough to make her uncomfortable. The child pointed at me, yelling STOP! I froze, hands up, a look of terror on my face. His mother was furious at his actions. I could only smile as I walked away.
At times I feel like I have so little control. More so this time of year.
It was good to let someone else feel powerful, if only for a moment. #smallstories
I stand still, the only one not moving in the crowd of rushing bodies. I am on the field, as hundreds of students participate in the annual one-mile run at our school. I aim to take pictures, but I am struck with giddiness by how many smiling faces are charging towards me, as if they are released into the wild, one last time before summer. It's like sitting in a circle of puppies. I let the wave of runners go past me, smiling in return to the sound of pounding feet. #smallstories
The rhythm jamming, thumping, biting from intro to finale to D.C. al fine. Cycling through, circling around, spirits rising, spirits falling, breathing hard, our feet impetuoso, our hearts forzando, some days inescapably within joy
I read this phrase in a biography of Whitman, "Walt was as hard to tameas Thoreau."Those words are to die for, to live up to. I want to be just as obvious, unfancy and full of gumption. I want to be as hard to tame as Walt and Henry, I want to live for nothing more than to make poems and economy.