This morning, as every morning, I am confronted by improbable things: that the downy woodpecker should be able to beat his head against a tree with machine-gun speed and fly away. That the squirrels of the daytime should fling themselves through the treetops with so much abandon and not turn their bodies into aerodynamic leaves like the squirrels of the night. That the sky should get so red — redder than wine, redder than blood — and then in the course of minutes fade so completely, leaving no trace of a stain.
Dave Bonta (bio) often suffers from imposter syndrome, but not in a bad way — more like some kind of flower-breathing dragon, pot-bellied and igneous. Be that as it may, all of his writing here is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).