Five months since this world held you. It feels like forever and it feels like an instant.
Sometimes it’s not real, and magical thinking lies to me for awhile. I let it in. It’s noice. It’s better. It’s so much better.
It’s raining here tonight, pup.
Reminds me of writing in the downpour in Big Sur that we drove into on purpose, and that Sunday with the waves in Carmel, and the dictation transcription pink sky home and the big paper on the wall and kitchen choreography and the midnight black-tie beach cotillion and The Art of Racing in the Rain
And slowly conquering your fear of tomatoes. Very slowly 🤪
and Dennis Lennox and the 30-year fixed in Cheboygan
And cartography and nothing means nothing and Gibbous Little and the frame.
You were a thousand bright things.
I miss you, JT.
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