For Werner

I watch the trains every day. They're never the same. Where are they coming from? Where are they going? The tracks run North to South...

Yesterday at work I peeled two HUGE bags of potatoes with a woman who has known me since I was a baby. I also used a butcher knife and Estwing hammer to hack a hundred rutabagas apart. Later, I washed dishes and pushed a broom. For lunch I ate fried chicken and green beans. A cool breeze blew through the windows in the kitchen. In the distance, the mountains regarded everything equally, soft green and motherly.

After work, I came home and worked on the trail while Janelle did yoga and Eleanor napped. [NEWS FLASH: HOT DAMN! JUST A MOMENT AGO, AT 2:19 P.M., 4-18-08, BABY ELEANOR TOOK FIVE FULL, UNASSISTED STEPS IN A ROW! SHE WALKS!] At sunset, we drove down to the DQ, where a pale dude with a handlebar mustache, a rat tail, and Oakley (c) Razorblades served up two ice creams. On the way home, we stopped by our friend Dean's house. Dean wasn't home, though his back door was wide open and his wiener dog came running out to greet or scare us, in a happy barking frenzy.

Today I had the day off so I cd work the night shift instead. What will this mean? It will mean watching the sun set from inside a wild, crowded kitchen with lots of personality and ordered chaos. It will mean that I periodically step out onto the back porch and, since I don't smoke my delicious cigarettes anymore, watch the moon climb the sky with night air in my lungs.