Drifters and Foxes

One time Alex Talks wrote that her confidence would fit comfortably in a teaspoon. This particular image is what appears in my mind often when I consider how to best measure a thing. Sometimes I wonder if my confidence would be better suited in a thimble. The next thing I attempt to figure out is whether or not a thimble is smaller than a teaspoon, in measurement, or even slightly larger. One must not estimate over zealously with such delicate matters.

12 hours ago Kim and I took a 4-mile Sharon Woods walk. 12 times Jack Frost reached into our ears and squeezed our ear drums, leaving them to ache. 12 times the blond woman in the baggy navy sweatshirt ran around this same path in the duration of our stroll. 12 cats decorated the pastures of growth along the way. Perhaps 12 is only actually applicable to the first statement.

((something about putting plastic on windows))

Fox appeared tonight, clean-shaven and adorned with round tortoise-shell glasses. That voice could never belong to another soul. He was a gift as Fruit is getting harder for me. Sing songs to the One who unites.

Drifter also emerged from the darkness, and I almost choked when I realized it was him. He grew his hair but cut his beard, making him look 15 years younger. He had just hopped off a train from out west, still traveling with his red pack. It was hard on me when he left. Things were different then. The west left its mark on him, and vice versa, no doubt.

Sometimes I think writing really is inhibiting. Sometimes I think that's ludacris. Either way, the former idea seems to be reigning, because writing these days feels so forced.

/

Perhaps the best feeling is to be known. We could all use significantly more of that. We could all allow significantly more of that.