Saturday, June 10, 2017
A fat moon pulled its way up and out of the juniper branches last night as cedar gnats had their way with soft and warm spots under my T-shirt. Little shits. You think they could at least ask before reaching up under my shirt and sawing off their half-pound of flesh. But the moon. Oh, the moon... Who cares about temporary itching when the moon rips to shreds everything you thought might last forever? It was like a hurricane: cruel and so intense nothing could stand in its path. That's the way it is now. The days slip away before I can find the energy to rise and enjoy them. All is falling away.