So much for sleep. . .

Sometimes I think I can tell when something is supposed to be something

I think this is supposed to be art, and indeed I think it is, of a sort

I don't know what this is . . . . . . . . at all

I'd give this one a passing grade

I don't know why but I did not try the door

Not my leaves . . . . . . not my lawn

Long story - I was walking in the feild behind my house - a few miles out and I found a rather large herd of deer, of which he was the slowest

Work Mess

This was hour 8 of my 11 hour car journey this weekend - ugh!

I went out on the porch - I sleep on the porch - not because I have to - but because I love it out there, and by sleep I mean sleep, my bed is out there, reading lamp, Ipod dock, books. I sleep out there. I enjoy the wind, the rain, the moonlight, and sunrises. Tonight was rain. I grew up in Seattle, I grew up in the rain. I love rain, the mist, shiny asphalt, the sound of tires on wet pavement. Drops on windows, getting feet out of wet socks, and pulling on nice dry ones. Soup and grilled cheese, and rain. How the trees are green and wet. Walking on the pier down in Des Moines, feeling the wind, hearing the waves crash on a stern and rockbound coast (not really - I just like the sound of "stern and rockbound") It's raining now, gentle and constant - like a low hum in the back of my mind. Sleeping outside has it's advantages, and its unforeseen side effects. Indoors is always to hot now, and to quite, the noise is all wrong, I can hear the walls. I can hear how close they are. Sound bounces around the room - outside it is swallowed up by the openness of it all. When it rains I can hear the buzzing of the transformer high above and away from me. I can hear the deer snorting in the overgrown orchard, and the rustle of unseen creatures on the night. The wind winds around the trees, I find leaves in my bed. I smile and love life here, and yet the rain brings me back to something far off and close, far off and near. I miss it. It is familiar, I know it from a time deeper and farther back then the rolling hills of the Palouse. I grew up hearing it in the morning, hearing it at night, feeling it on my face and arms. Breathing it in.

It's just weather.

But it's home.