The coolness of the air.

The creak of my feet against the cabin the floors. Something soothing about the sound of it.

Instant coffee and water and journal on the dock. The pale yellow light of the sun obscured by the cloud cover.

The way the body feels when rains are coming.

I remember that it’s about the process. But it only takes a one simple phrase to open me up: “You will make mistakes today.” - Teri Dautcher

The magic of the physical act of making. Fatigue, but the kind of fatigue that one experiences from being so involved in your work and the mind stretching.

To come more than 2,000 miles to eat a meal with someone who lives only 70 miles away from you is a little funny and yet seems perfectly normal and ordinary and right in this case.

Soup weather.

The sound of feet shuffling along the path. The click of walking sticks against the rock. Muffled voices.

Wine in solo cups, sitting beside the fire, in conversation but also noticing uses of language, privileges. Trying to unsee pictures of Howard Hugh’s nails.