Count the headlights on the highway

Now oddly it’s the reusable bags they look upon with distrust at the grocery store. It’s the first time I shopped wearing latex gloves, but it felt like I was being sensible. I turned them inside out and left them in the car where after three days you don’t have to worry about it they said. We gardened all day. I picked dead leaves out of the garden beds and pruned sword ferns, gathering the fronds and tossing them into a pit 12 feet by 10, where a large cottonwood trunk dried out and created a massive hole. We decided to fill it with yard waste and it filled up fast, despite the size. I got cans of beans and more coffee at the store. I’ve built up a pantry in the garage I can stand back and smile at now. Everyone was out today piddling in their yards or taking walks. I drove into town to deposit a check around 8, Sunday morning, light fog and no one around. A sickly sun and a moment I could drift off to music and coffee and meander down the road not thinking about anything. Lily and I camped for a night in the desert steppe of eastern Washington, down Canyon Road. She put on Elton John and we sang Tiny Dancer, “count the headlights on the highway…!”

Categories: microblogging, prose, writing

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