Something on the internet this evening gave me a flash of summer memory. The temperatures pleasantly in the 80s, the dappled sunlight through the backyard trees, sitting swaying in the hammock. I breathed it for a split second. This is what memory does. This is what is and is not the point of living. Living the moment means I have this memory to ( Read more... )

The high dull clink of chopped wood against wood in the crook of my arm. Clatter onto the stack in the house ( Read more... )