Out here

I happened to glance out the window this morning as I woke.
Clouds, like tufts of soap bubbles, dotted the mountainside.
Even mountains get bedhead, I thought.
To the east, clouds embrace everything above the blue tin roofs at the ranch
just visible through the spruce across the river.
I could believe there was nothing behind them, nothing inside that ephemeral touch.
I could believe this was a valley in Scotland
(even though I’ve never been in a valley in Scotland)
but that’s dangerous.
I hear out in these parts, they giggle at you if you let your brogue show.

i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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