Posts for June 8, 2026 (page 6)

The typewriter sits proud in its earned place
’50s paint job striking, robin’s-egg blue
Chipping here and there tells a tale of use
The cold aluminum chassis is strong and sturdy
My hands are weight-bitten setting machine in front of me

The rubber platen roll grips paper tight
Turning the knob sends vibrations through my arm
It sings a gear-ratchet melody, click-clicking a hundred times
A weighted push sends carriage to the far right
My fingers kiss the yellowed keys, and I begin to type

The clack-clack clacking an otherworldly tune
My pace picks up as I write with all my heart
Man and machine become a mechanical dance
My words printing across and down the page
When it’s over all is quiet

My heart is a seed
brimming with silent words,
sitting on a shelf, collecting dust.
I offer my hands, palm up, like open petals,
but they flutter away
carried off on the wind of indifference
while I stay rooted.
Yearning for the rain of recognition
that never falls.
I gather fragments of silence,
each one a stone to build;
a wall, a fortress.
I am an unpicked flower,
my vibrant colors fading away,
wondering if anyone sees
the beauty hidden in the weeds.
Or if I am destined to wither,
unnoticed, beneath the weight
of a world that turns away.

Two years later, there is a white squirrel
That lives in the tall sycamore trees on the little bank across the stream
I thought I was dreaming when I saw the flash of white, and hoped it was OUR white squirrel
But it was wishful thinking
This one isn’t quite as big, or as belligerent as the prior one
We’ve seen it twice, gathering food for winter, both on the ground and spiraling up and down the trees
I watched it through my binoculars
And several times got a very good close-up look
It’s also leucistic, not albino – bright white with a solid brown tail and nose
I still can’t see the eye color, at 250 yards, even with magnification

We took a video of it and shared it with friends and family
I haven’t decided yet if I will report this one on the official white squirrel watch website (not joking)
I guess I should, as it seems that white squirrel genetics are strong here in the forested creekside back corner of my sister-in-law’s farm

Seeing another white squirrel this year makes me happy
I marvel at how its whiteness stands out against the drab yellow and brown of autumn
And I hope a hawk or other sharp-eyed predator won’t find it, when I can see it clearly from all the way up the hill
But I know that’s unlikely to happen, and just how life works

And maybe the lesson is renewal if there can’t be persistence
Life can be rare and precious
Even when it’s fleeting

I want to wish you the worst

I want it to all finally crash down on you

I want the world to make you suffer

I want her to cheat on you

To maybe get close to the way

You made me feel

I know I shouldn’t want that though

They say time heals all wounds

And that’s true

But it’s also true that you’ve never left me

That I take you with me

Hold what you did to me

Every step of every day

Right next to my heart

And sometimes

I open it

I let it infect me

Infuse with my bloodstream

I let it take me over

Other days I forget it’s there

And then

I see you

On my phone

In my mind

In my dreams

And I’m transported back

Into the body of a 14 year old

Who was left

Alone

In more pain than I’ve ever felt in my life

And so

I want you to feel how I felt

And maybe that’s awful

Or maybe that’s human

And maybe I shouldn’t feel bad for feeling it

But I can’t help wondering

What if wishing bad things on you

Makes me deserving of it all

A farm is not an esthetic

It is not gingham table covers

Or neutral tone dresses and pedicured toes with babies around your feet

It is sun cracked hands with soil running in every line

Tomato ripe like the blood in your veins

It is in the way the farmers can feel the frost in their bones

Before it ever glazes over strawberry leafs

Or the smell of snapped green beans forever in your nose

The thud of them landing solid in an old Lowe’s bucket

A farm is my ancestors, my uncle and papaw

That taught me how to till soil

And how to properly shuck corn

Brad that taught me how to peel a potato with gentle hands

Bill that taught me how to spot ginseng in the hills behind the garden

I still see their hands casting seeds like holy water to the land

And now I carry this legacy

Pulling weeds and sewing hope

Hot heat on my back

The coolness of a spring wind

Whispering to me that

They still live through the sprouting

Of life from earth

Nothing clears out the left lane faster
than a cop going 8 over.

Nothing clears out an online form faster
than submitting without one spot filled.

Nothing clears out the break room faster
than Jim from Accounting with a story to tell.

she stands out

on the edge

says to herself

does anything i do matter

and steps off

Blessed are the caretakers,
For their strength be replenished daily.
Blessed are the stressed,
For they are not alone in the fight.
Blessed are the potty trained children,
For they finally save the household money.
Blessed are the overstimulated,
For they shall soon be comforted.
Blessed are those who must restrain themselves,
For bad behavior doesn’t last always.
Blessed are those who see a mirror of themselves,
For this should promote introspection.
Blessed are the ones who persevere,
For this builds stamina and long suffering.
Blessed are the growing pains of brats and their attitudes,
For on the other side is joy and peace.

A plain Barlow pocketknife,
ever in his pocket,
not a collector’s piece,
pristine as the day it was bought,
but a tool, as beaten up as an old hammer
or screwdriver used for prying things apart,
outer casing cracked,
nicks in the blade,
oily crud in the cracks.

Never a collector,
things without utility
of little value,
never bought fine art
or fine china or items to display –
but a tool like a plain old Barlow knife.

That was worth keeping.

good morning, how are you, how have you been
well doc, there’s this weird thing right here on my skin
I know I have a habit of assuming the worst
but can you confirm I’m not under some curse?

it’s just that this rash only shows up sometimes
often when I’ve stepped a toe out of line
and this here on my finger, could it be an ulcer
of course I have not been picking, my good sir

I checked with The Internet and they said I’m dying
but could you take a sample to test if I’m fine?
you tell me I have nothing to worry about
so I move on and begin some light research on gout.