If I am writing about how the world is, I will tell you this: I write from my bed at 6:21 a.m. this morning and the world is lovely. I need new synonyms for “beautiful” because it feels worn thin by overuse. It is beautiful, but this is how: Two dogs snore gently on my down comforter. One window is open to the world and various winged creatures are warming their throats. A crow. A red-winged blackbird. Our rooster who can’t tell time. Dawn was an hour ago but he must have slept in. The cattle are literally lowing—ours, and then the neighbors’ in reply. They stretch their necks out low and straight and reach their fat pink cow lips forward for delivery, and they
What You See
What You See
What You See
If I am writing about how the world is, I will tell you this: I write from my bed at 6:21 a.m. this morning and the world is lovely. I need new synonyms for “beautiful” because it feels worn thin by overuse. It is beautiful, but this is how: Two dogs snore gently on my down comforter. One window is open to the world and various winged creatures are warming their throats. A crow. A red-winged blackbird. Our rooster who can’t tell time. Dawn was an hour ago but he must have slept in. The cattle are literally lowing—ours, and then the neighbors’ in reply. They stretch their necks out low and straight and reach their fat pink cow lips forward for delivery, and they