Miss that so much.
— Rivers and Roads — The Head and the Heart
In 1816, there was this crazy volcano in Indonesia. It made for a dark and unnaturally cool European summer, and lots of people unknowingly and thus quite naturally feared the worst.
Lord Byron, who was going through his own dark shit, wrote this poem about it.
My hometown is covered in forest fire smoke right now (it was just moving in, in the picture above). The town is not in any immediate danger of burning, and in fact the fires responsible for this current ash-mask are pretty far away. But it has provided something like a constant reminder of how we’re all about an arm’s length away from oblivion.
My dad’s words last night, post-Byron.
“This evening, I went outside and the sun was low in the sky and glowing softly orange. Everything smells like someone forgot to open the damper on the fireplace. The dogs’ water bowl was full of ashes this morning. And we are over a hundred miles from the West Fork fire, which I read is at 53,000 acres.”
(Photo by Jonathan Drake)
Every Sunday, my little brother calls to tell me about his soccer game.
His simple brilliance has been recorded and rearranged.
I was culpable for the second goal
I sliced my clearance into their striker.
It fell nicely. He couldn’t miss.
They scored. It was my fault.
Also, can you hear Ti?
He got his teeth cleaned, so he’s whining.
I’m trying to pet him to sleep.
Went to the courthouse today to get the marriage license and ran across these fantastic historically inspired murals in the rotunda.