knowing me on a misty morning like this in big sky Montana looking out from the deck seeing my breath the same color as the clouds the nestle down into the cleavage of the mountains like a woman’s necklaceThe soft and frequent pitter patter of rain that drops on my phone screen and the wet wood will become more frequent and harder later in the day the weather report tells us which is why we walking up early to make the drive to Yellowstone

I knows breeze in cold air in my mouth exhales vapor why I see the same trees this all last night now presumably just a little taller and a little more wet from the night rain chopped firewood place stacked at the mouth of the forest quite a lot of firewood next to two stops that must’ve been the contributors onetreeMust’ve been about twice as thick as the other judging from the chopped wood in the stumps some trees fall and naturally I wonder why those were not first used for the firewood seems like a good alternative to use a dead day instead of shopping at a living thing

on after and into what wouldn’t have been possible prior to what presently is more poignant than trying to remember

It is most often between generics and specifics choosing whether to lift off and leave earth or stay grounded in a real and present reality. The difference between being that with specifics you are committed. There is a time and place and to say one thing starts you down that path so that if you say something completely different halfway through then the reader will say wait a minute, this is not what I expected. Whereas with generics there are mostly pronouns and non-descript adjectives (the types of adjectives that could describe anything).

inward skies drift outward from mind’s eye into What was once water in the lake below now drifted up into vapor from the water surface that reflects it moving on drifting so this sky is a change of sceneThe same clouds that hide the stars at night giving a sense of soft safe protection aboveAround mountain peaks in the distance soon to return earth word in this rain

Inside painting cloud so I’d like a canvas three jobs against it clearly moving just enough to know it’s still real

edited: Inside a painting on the back porch clouds so white like a canvas the trees against it the green trunk spine branched tops defined so clearly against sky moving just enough to know it’s still real compared to trees against the forest so ambiguous seeing a forest for the trees wrapped in a blanket internally warm enough so my breath turns immediately to vapor making it harder to see through the smoke into the painting

unable to tell whether the clouds have changed or not being the same white overhead and no city noise to tell you when people are getting to or leaving work and your hunger the only clock telling you the time since your last meal and maybe tired at some point in the day napping if so in the leather sofa under the vaulted cedar ceiling waking and need needing to or at least laying my head back down and keeping my eyes open thinking as little as possible letting what happen will in the world outside this montana cabin off far away from what i will soon return to