A Few More Sentences – 12
Binaakwe-giizis (Falling Leaves Moon) Edition
Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. In this case, I am happy to present the TWELFTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences. That is one year of monthly installments since I committed to posting them here, and I’m pretty thrilled with that. It feels good to have re-dedicated myself to it with vigor, and I’m grateful to have so many of you along for the ride.
For those of you new here, this monthly edition, where I post my daily, single sentences that I’ve accumulated for the month-just-ended, is based on the practice that ultimately led to my first book, One-Sentence Journal, back in 2018. It’s a simple practice and fulfilling … and also maybe not so simple as it may seem. Regardless, the practice is excellent training for paying attention to the small moments of my life, and I enjoy sharing those moments here. As always, I deeply appreciate your time and attention. If you feel compelled to offer up a few of your own in the comments, I would love to see them.
2023_1001: Clouds break over Kalispell long enough for the sun to end the day in glory that matches the colors of the changing leaves.
2023_1002: No wind on Flathead Lake to drive all the small boats back to the marina.
2023_1003: From the fourth floor of the library I am fortunate to see Missoula gorgeously dressed-up for Autumn.
2023_1004: A burly skunk drags away a sandwich from the takeout box left behind on the motel neighbor’s front porch.
2023_1005: Awake in the early hours before dawn at the Three Bears Motel in Lincoln with a Katy Perry song lodged for who knows why in my head and I don’t know which is worse: the maddening loop of an annoying refrain I don’t even know or the simple fact I have absolutely no recollection of what I did “last Friday night.”
2023_1006: Burying gookooko’oo at twilight.
2023_1007: Gratitude for having been young for what seems only the splittest of seconds and never, ever beautiful.
2023_1008: Strangers are comrades when the interstate becomes a parking lot and everyone is forced to wait together for clean-up of the overturned semi.
2023_1009: Livingston turns out in amazing numbers on an utterly perfect fall evening.
2023_1010: An overwhelming, transcendent celebration of relationship.
2023_1011: Slow, starry drive home after an evening listening to stories.
2023_1012: Rubbing my eyes vigorously at the unlikelihood of a blank spot on the calendar.
2023_1013: Four meetings before noon and this is allegedly the simple life!
2023_1014: A long day trip to Great Falls and back to slurp soup and chum it up with a handful of sassy elders.
2023_1015: Where yesterday morning there was raucously one, today three Stellar’s jays greet me from the tree in my yard as I step outside and it’s all I can do not to fall off my porch in joy.
2023_1016: Bare-branched cottonwood leafed instead with crows.
2023_1017: Delta hassling folks in the boarding area to check overhead bags and there’s no way they should expect any of these aunties to turn over their beading supplies.
2023_1018: It’s still like Montana summer out in the New Mexico desert.
2023_1019: Brilliant ribbon skirts, beads, silver and turquoise jewelry, t-shirts with clever designs and slogans, enormous auntie laughs and a sea of big, beautiful brown faces in all their glorious Indigenous variety.
2023_1020: “HEY-Yuuuuh!”
2023_1021: Ashes from the morning medicine floating on the surface of my coffee.
2023_1022: So much glorious recent outside makes for gurgling nausea as the hours drag by in nothing but recycled, indoor air.
2023_1023: When the day before inflicts a serious beating unto the day of.
2023_1024: The enjoyment of another largely unaccompanied slow mosey home in darkness and the realization that maybe this is how old people turn into such habitually slow drivers: we just learn to appreciate every opportunity to take our time and enjoy the world and let anyone in a hurry be damned.
2023_1025: First snow of the season and a biting wind to remind the faint of heart what winter is really like.
2023_1026: Too much cloud cover to see the mountains but the conifers in the canyon, under a fresh coat of snow, more than make up for it.
2023_1027: Despite the flames of summer the boy dances on.
2023_1028: It is easy to forget how magnificent Nookomis is at her fullest on a cold, cold winter night … and here she is, to remind me.
2023_1029: Staggering around the corner into the stretch run for the finish line.
2023_1030: Snow brings coyote out to the big pasture in broad daylight.
2023_1031: Stare too long into the abyss and eventually a chihuahua stares back.
the deer saw me first, our eyes met and we stood still, breathing the cool air. (9/29)
high above, grey clouds, the morning fresh and lovely, one lost goose flying. (10/4)
winter on the wind, the geese invisible near, their honks sad and true (10/7)
first frost this morning, the air clean and fresh with it, all the birds singing (10/9)
my kitty cat, must you bump my writing hand? my love so needed (10/14)
the dog's heavy sigh, my shoulders relax with it, as if i breathed it (10/15)
the clouds lie in folds, a blanket of grey flannels, and someone moves them (10/22)
into the yard in slippers, what is this white stuff fallen? a shiver, delight! (10/30)
I am so thankful that you got me started doing this each morning. Miigwech from the bottom of my heart!
chihuahuas can be just as dangerous as escalades...thankfully not this month