Smoke Breath



Lying in the driveway in search of meteors, bellies filled with turmeric and lentils, we watched our breath tumble through the beam of a flashlight, held our hands up to the sky to see the moon color our palms. 

In these first cold days and nights when the yard is strange and moonswept or frosted with dew at dawn I am thinking both forward and backward, savoring each plate of eggs or cup of coffee as if it’s the one previous or the one yet to come. 

Jake stirs sugar into his coffee and early light soaks into his smile. Dogs are barking, cats are mewing. The sun climbs higher in the sky and the moon hangs over Jono, whose stars are different, Sarah notes. 

Last year Steve registered for me the URL, a web address that reroutes to this very blog. I was touched deeply by this action. “It’s like naming a star for someone,” I commented. 

Last night in our sleeping bags on the pavement, surrounded by towering pines, we watched the stars stand still for long enough that they seemed to be moving. 

I am filled with love and experience. 


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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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3 Responses to Smoke Breath

  1. curlycarrotcake says:

    This is beautiful, Erica!

  2. A cat fancier says:

    I miss this blog, what happened to you bearica?

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