Letters from Home

It is nighttime, I am tucked in my tiny prairie bed on sleeping bag with the windows open, the ceaseless wind tossing the trees outside, blowing across the great open space that surrounds.

I am well, but I have been missing home keenly this week, but these Jake-Olive updates are a kind reminder of what is there, sitting pretty, biting and sleeping and biking and sleeping.

With love to all, east or west or in the middle. Goodnight.

Her favored sleeping spot, beneath Ellis' shredded wheel.

Her favored sleeping spot, beneath Ellis’ shredded wheel.



About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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