A lot has been going on here lately. Had I not been feeling so reticent, I might’ve posted the following updates to Twitter or Facebook.

A dry high: the best weather for brewing.


The face of an intruder caught in my flashlight’s beam in the tall weeds, pale and out-of-place as a late-season snow.


The night after the burglary, I sit outside for hours watching fireflies in the moonlight, listening to the deer grazing: slow footfalls, loud chewing.


A patch of dead grass where the police car had parked with its engine running, leaking coolant in the noonday heat.


I’ve been actively flirting with disaster. Which is to say, for the first time in years I’ve been driving a car.


The sky before a violent storm turns green just like the face of someone about to vomit.

2 Replies to “Untweeted”

  1. There’s a story here, clearly in the lines, not between them. Still there’s more. I’m curious … and concerned. What’s up?

    1. You mean the burglar? Still not entirely sure, but we’re hoping he’s moved on. Apparently not a local, and possibly a homeless guy. Took food and pills from my parents’ house.

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