Wow.
Two hundred days.
I can’t believe I’ve sat down every night for the past two hundred nights and scribbled something on a piece of paper. It’s so strange-feeling like this has been going on forever, yet also feeling as if it has just begun.
I won’t build it up too much, because today’s piece isn’t worth any real hullabaloo.
bone-—dry adj. Completely without water.
I found this word so delightfully ironic that I just had to illustrate it. If you hadn’t been outside in Kansas today, let me assure you that it was anything but “bone dry”. In fact, it was just about as far from bone dry as it could possibly get with the exception of actually being underwater.
Anyway, this word reminded me of summers in New Mexico-how crisp and dry everything gets. The sun beating down-making everything harsh and glaring. The thing about those bone dry days, though, is that they turn into mountain nights. Everything gets cold and breezy, and that clean smell of piñon and powdery red earth just sits calmly on the night air.
Oh, how I miss it all.
Now, today’s bit of line doesn’t do it justice, but I wanted to illustrate the peace that can come hand-in-hand with the bone-dry. I’m through with thinking of “bone dry” as a bad thing-any amount of dryness weather-wise sounds like a blessing at this point.
Now, considering that I’ve slept 3 hours in the past 48, I really must be getting to bed.
Happy two hundred days.
Xx
-r
No comments:
Post a Comment