...writing on paper with a pen. Page after page, pouring out utter nonsense & pure poetry into the safety of the grain.
...the way my soul was calls out to broken old barns and the way the yearning to straighten their boards, prop them up and smooth them over with my palms comes bounding from my marrow.
...walking through the mountains alone.
...walking through fields with humans who talk of the big, shimmering ideas and challenges of our humanness.
...Moose Crossing signs of all kinds.
...drinking coffee in the chill and quiet of the morning. This love cannot be overstated.
...the way a feeling from a dream stays with me, just below my skin for hours and days on end.
...folding warm laundry.