- The sun the feral cat finds to nap in.
- Fallen branches rising coral-like from the lawn.
- The brown jellied fungus on the branches, like seaweed.
- The worm making its way across the kitchen table.
- After the rain, a torrent of sun.
- The tip of Nate's tongue protruding, pink against his black.
- The way we tell each other little stories about the weekend in the quiet after everyone is gone, hammering them in like tent pegs, standing upright in the space we make for ourselves there.
- Just occupying space.
Telling: Streams & Logs