"rain," raymond carver
Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.
Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over.
four years
may god bless my people: my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father. oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble, and in the hour of their taking away.
-- james
oct. 1
on this day four years ago I left Spokane, my hair a wild, unbrushed wreck, wearing an old pair of grey shorts and a zip-up cardigan I liked to call my "house coat." everything I owned was in my car, including my pet rabbit.
sunset
north carolina:
a blast of humidity upon setting foot outside the airport. driving to the beach house, the road was lined with myrtles. we stopped at dunkin donuts on the way -- we
"marriage," lawrence raab
"you run like a deer."