July 15, 2026—Learning to Say No

Waves licking shinny pebbles—whooshing water on repeat—light splintered by lodgepole branches—Molly plays chicken with the waves—glowing child in the dusk—the sky mirrors my watercolor pallet: yellow bleeding into pink, purple, and blue mixed with white—stars blink into the stretched canvas of sky—the night blankets the water and earth and us—was that a bear? No. Let’s go back. Time for bed.

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July 1, 2026—Raising Reverence

Ribbons of rivers with white capped rapids—Water lines etched in rock like a growth chart of the earth—Towering Buttes stand forlorn like forgotten altars—Grazing bighorn sheep gaze at gawking tourists—fields of sagebrush, a refuge for ground squirrels—billowing steam escaping fumaroles—churning caldrons—crusty bays and stinky steam—waves of water and sound pushed by subterranean thermal pulses—gloopy burbling mini mud volcanoes—bison pie and dried hoof prints—panting bison lounging near a steam vent, are you OK?

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June 17, 2026—Holy Aches

Droning lawn mower engine—yellow dandelions closed until the sun returns—divots of earth beneath my feet—wind whipping my hair into my eyes—maple leaves pat my head when I pass beneath— decapitated dandelions—CLACK, branches splintered beneath the blades—blade of grass swaying in the wind—I leave my mark in neat rows—the grass makes its mark on my stained shoes.

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June 10, 2026—A Watchful Eye

Searing pavement underfoot—white light dances blindly on the water—screams fall  into splashes—parents rubbing sunscreen on squirming children—muffled voices underwater—blurry eyes drip with water, stinging with chlorine—sweet cool ice cream satisfies hot and hungry bodies—sticky fingers, sticky chins—puffed monkey cheeks and closed eyes—CANNONBALL!

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