New Ways of Seeing

Well, the bats are out. In front of the big glass door; swooping and fluttering and dashing about. It's good, it's some sort of affirmation that spring is here even if we can't feel it, even if we tie on our woolen scarves extra tight and secretly search the clearance rack for marked-down polar fleeces. The bats are eating the bugs, and the bugs are here for the brand new edibles. If only the sunshine would take a cue.


And yeah, I'm 32. So I do things like this: I brew kombucha. I'm actually ridiculously excited, I have received a good SCOBY (that's Symbiotic Culture Of Bacteria and Yeast for the uninitiated..) from a new friend, Tess. She's from West Texas where everything looks like the intro to that Harry Dean Stanton movie. You know the one.


And what else? Somehow I'm trapped in a rash streak of thumb abuse.. it's wind damage, papercut, papercut, and corkscrew follies. OUCH! I can hardly bear to turn a page.