Promises

One of these days I have to post something that makes sense. Something with a beginning and an end and a good bit in the middle. Maybe even read it before posting. No, seriously. That might not be today. Today will mostly be cleaning, fretting, running around and, in some way, sweetly grieving. Mary and I are going to Mexico just as Minnesota is fatly and sweetly and brightly and richly rolling out spring. I hereby dedicate the last five minutes of my life to the adverb, its long legs and whimsy.

Last night with the dog and the stars and an unsteady Earth spinning too fast while I breathed in tide pools from oceans never visited, suddenly a nighthawk. Something about those birds. The first, at least my first, this year. Maybe later I'll sift around in my head and try to remember every one.