The moon is a skinless fat slice of pear, juice dripping in the air. It is white out the window, it is cold out the window, I hear Jandro out there on the phone with his man. There are two spots on the whole farm where we get reception. If you're clever like him you have a blue tooth so when the cellgods are happy and you get one bar then you make a call and can walk around the yard outside of the cabin. In the cold, on the phone. 
Nicki made us watch the funniest thing. Which in real life I would find disturbing like I'm embarrassed by this and my secret embarrassment makes it funnier. But here on the Cosmic Murk Farm it was hysterical, and we are just us.
Dori is home, tonight she played me guitar. There is a song by Gillian Welch that reminds me of us, of us saving money eager with our whatnexts but also of us, here. Under the pine trees in the hills. I played it for her tonight in hopes that she can learn it for our fire tomorrow. On facebook there was a thread to/for/from all my cousins with 22 names attached, it was about a cousin slumber party at Thanksgiving which I wont get to be a part. In Bmore. One of my homes. Seanie and Jame and the baby will be there! It made me sad but also so happy to see the boy cousins making fun of one another and our cousins-who-are-friends-that-have-become-McCousins a part of the whole thing too. Life is good. Let's sing this song....
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