I must be part plant, because I bloom in the springtime. The sun returns, the warmth returns, and a fizzy joy-I feel it in my chest. My headaches clear. My back straightens. While everyone around me is sneezing from the pollen, I breathe it in, it gives me life. I…

I held my poem in my hand, as a cherry blossom rained its final petals, when the winds came. It was a wind without the storm, a cloud without the rain, and it brought blossoms back up to the sky, as if god wanted to turn back time, as if…

My book about time is late at the library. The book is called Timefulness and it’s about the lifecycle of our planet. The beginning. The snowball. The Boring Billion. The grand entrance of the Himalayas, when India escaped Africa and smashed into Asia, creating enough fresh carbon-eating rock to precipitate…

There’s a photograph of a ceiling hanging on our wall. It was taken at an angle, from below and to the side, in a construction zone, with stairs leading up into an attic with no roof, and a free-floating lightbulb hanging from a cord attached to a pendulous plank of…

A fragment of black string floats before my face, drifting down from nowhere. I try to grab it; it floats away. It’s buglike in its movements, avoiding my grasp, so sensitive to the changes in air pressure as my palm moves towards it. …

Destinations are overrated. I’ve been busy. Busy working, busy writing, busy traveling. The days at home seem empty but get filled with busyness. I own a business, which is just what happens when busyness turns from “Y?” to “I.” “Why” be busy? Because it’s what “I” do. …

I tried to make five loaves of tomato-basil sourdough. Instead I made ten. The recipe that I quintupled was for two loaves. I ran out of good flour and went to the okay flour. Other than that, I followed the recipe. Except I didn’t have paprika, so used cayenne instead…

I discovered a chip in my tooth. In a back molar. A jaggedness with my tongue, like something was stuck, but nothing was, I hadn’t eaten. I looked in a mirror. A tiny hole. I’ve never had a cavity, but the internet told me that’s what this was. Continued googling…

This week I learned that every birder has a “spark bird.” A spark bird is the bird that sparked their birdy passion. The bird that opened their eyes to birds. It’s the hawk you see carrying a dead squirrel, or the family of sandhill cranes that lets you peacefully pass…