It was bedtime when I got a text from Travis. It was a picture of the full moon. Oh, man. . . early on I figured I wouldn't be able to see it, then I forgot about it. I grabbed my phone and went out to take my own. It was a hazy moon, an orb without a face, but it and I communed for a moment in the thick after storm air before I went back inside.
I've been writing for an hour here and have in an insightful moment deleted it all. The prose was worse than a ChatGPT composition. And so I will admit defeat this morning. Maybe I'll try again this afternoon. There is simply nothing coming from this cabeza this morning. Better to make a tactical retreat and reorganize my resources.
It's not you. . . it's me.
Until then. . . selah and selavy.