It is nearly noon here now, and we’ve already been up for awhile. Breakfast was fried eggs, freckled and warm from the coop, covered with salt and pepper, and crispy greasy bacon to dip in the bright orange yolks.
We spent fifteen minutes in hot pursuit-meaning he ran around the barn, appearing and disappearing, while I gave chase and tried to shoot him with a bow and arrows.
I am at ease here; the fridge is full of milk, the yard of wood for the bonfire tonight, and my head with thoughts of petroglyphs and praying mantis, and the sex we had on our knees on the wooden floor of the kitchen earlier.
The majority of today I’ve seen behind the lens of my camera; shiny blue glass electric line bulbs. Yellow argiope garden spiders with abdomens the size of grapes. A feisty horse. A teething puppy. A hayloft whose drying onions were illuminated by sunlight through windows.
My mouth tastes like hot coffee and cold mint tea. Hand-rolled cigarettes and semen. Fried eggs and the beer I gargled with when I woke up this morning.
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