(and I’m again on the road to Alaska…)

May 16th found my sister and I carefully stepping through Japanese gardens in Portland, Oregon:

On the 7th of May, my aunt, uncle, and I drifted across the high desert to an old barn that took snapshots of us as we endeavored:

Laughing when the sun comes out. Terrestrial and looking to land. The night spins glorious and warm; [we] are left with nothing but the ashes of a lived day — some sort of celebration still dancing haptic in the mind. This tree looms, tearing your attentions away from the lesser and indiscriminate. The page spools before the writer like a slate or an apparition unfulfilled. I attempt simple languages felled from branches more knowledgeable than mine. You be the judge.