Year of writing 11 & 12

1/11/12

There's a new morning ritual at my house. It goes a little something like this -
Isla: Dad (her serious tone), are werewolves real?
Me: No sweetie.
Isla: Dad, do werewolves come out in the daytime, the nighttime, or some other time.
Me: Well, they're not real - but the ones in the stories come out at night on a full moon.
Isla: Oh.... Dad, are wolves real?
Me: Yes
Isla: What do wolves do?
Me: They do wolfy type things, like howl or hunt for food or take care of their wolf cubs.
Isla: But do they eat little girls?
Me: Not that I've ever heard of. Why? Are you scared of a wolf?
Isla: No dad, are you?
Me: Not really.


This conversation has played out in it's entirety three times now. I can't tell if it's a little red riding hood thing, or if it's just an active imagination, but I'm starting to second guess the werewolf thing now. Next full moon I got my eye on her.

1/12/12

Today we went down south for Tegan's interview. This move is getting more and more real.

101 South
The sun rises on
a silhouetted oak
emerging from the mist
in this field, alone

rain has been slow
this winter - the grass
brown and patchy
the dirt cracked

The ocean teases as
the sun burns through
peeking through sleepy towns
then disappearing behind hills

when it shows its face
once more, it is braggadocios
twinkling diamonds on
gunmetal peaks and valleys

we point across lanes
to a pod of dolphins
their movement looks like joy;
looks like home