Oh, shoot.

First fire of the season. The sound and the smell of it.

He is awfully agreeable this morning and that makes it all pretty easy.

Last game.

I keep moving toward the sun to stay warm but the sun is setting and there is no way to escape the chill.

Turns out, if you call him and he answers he will usually do what you say. They get bold when the communication is via text.

She stops to take a picture of the moon as we make our way back toward the car. The sky is pink and tan and powder blue and soft. Hazy from a prescribed burn on the other side of the mountains.

Hot chili. Forgot the sugar in the cornbread.

But really, who has a birthday party that goes this late into the night?

Turning off the alarms.