“Last round, best round.” I hear her voice in my sleep.

Maybe it’s cool enough for me not to sweat.

The sun through the fog is blindly bright but it casts a holy glow over everything.

I knew I should have just stayed home.

Leftover Italian wedding soup for lunch. Quiet except for the sound of my fingernails on the keyboard.

Driveway littered with browning oak leaves.

Friday night football on a Thursday. Everything feels just a little weird.

Supermoon hanging in the sky.

The wind is picking up. The power is already off in the towns just up the hill. We shouldn’t be affected, but we’re so close, you never know.

Still up.