A Few More Sentences – 21
Miskomini-giizis (Raspberry 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 TWENTY_FIRST EDITION! of the monthly sentences.
For those of you new here this monthly edition, where I post the 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 observations in the comments, I would love to see them.
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Storm Update! As I mentioned last time, we were all but obliterated out here in the Old Mill District™ by that freak storm that blasted through a week ago. I appreciate all the kind words from everyone and thought you might be interested to know the power came back the evening I posted that newsletter, one day shy of a week since losing it, and the water was back the next day. Rejoice! I’ll say this: living without power isn’t that big of a deal to me, but losing water sucks.
I’d also like to send kudos to all the utility folks who rose magnificently to the challenge. Tonight on my way home I drove through the most devastated stretch of Mullan Road (I’d been avoiding it all week per the request of the agencies making the repairs) and I was amazed that you almost wouldn’t know any power poles and lines had ever been down. What a miracle those folks performed! I’m significantly impressed. Excellent work, Missoula Electric Cooperative!
2024_0701: The nature of this summer project is such that when it ends, the smiling face across the table is one I probably won’t see again for months and months.
2024_0702: A dreamed line echoes in my head, quietly singing that “The colors come around the corner in many shapes….”
2024_0703: Forty-five minutes on-the-phone later I’m still not entirely sure what was discussed, only that something apparently was.
2024_0704: Driving thirteen hours to dodge the onerous celebrations only to be run down in the periphery of the big city.
2024_0705: Reflecting on the undeserved good fortune the morning after the city seemed under siege that it really wasn’t … and then how we plebes toil on, funding the malevolent war machine.
2024_0706: The dawn chorus outside the hotel yields to the sound of so much traffic.
2024_0707: Eight or ten white women practice yoga around the pool while the brown man handles changing out the garbage can.
2024_0708: “Remember to stay out of the kitchen so we don’t contaminate the bee hives.”
2024_0709: Thunder Beings fancy dance across the peaks of the Wind River Range.
2024_0710: The wind paints streaks of writhing colors across the surface of the turbulent lake.
2024_0711: Awake at 5am, the sky just starting to burnish from charcoal to silver, I wonder what this place might be like in spring, or fall, under dramatic clouds, mist rising from the surface of the lake.
2024_0712: Afternoon nuzzles face-to-face with a drowsy mule.
2024_0713: Passing my tribal ID to a smiling park ranger at the entrance to Grand Teton National Park, instead of “Welcome home!” this time I get – perhaps even better and certainly more surprising – a giddy, hand-waving eruption of, “I KNEW it was you!”
2024_0714: Cool morning on the front porch, eyes closed, the chirps and whirs of the hummingbird neighbors.
2024_0715: A robin chases the other morning birds around like he thinks he’s a Cooper’s hawk or something.
2024_0716: With a beautiful new jam space we seem to have added a 4th member to the power trio: ceaseless feedback that rings in my skull for hours after.
2024_0717: Never underestimate the day’s ability to derail itself in the closing hours.
2024_0718: Too addled to arrive at the correct location for the morning meeting.
2024_0719: Small book-crowded room and an intrepid gathering of sweaty folks to hear poetry on a sweltering evening is a highlight of this first year under the mantle of poet laureate.
2024_0720: Sipping coffee on the porch at 5:30am under the glare of the motion light, today marks the first time the shortening of our days has become apparent to me.
2024_0721: Mishomis an angry, red glowing orb at sunset of the day I first encounter the finished copies.
2024_0722: If only the skies were as clear as my calendar today.
2024_0723: Two pallets of books arrive in the alley behind the sacred space.
2024_0724: In the wake of the furious, unprecedented storm that reconfigured my neighborhood, stillness.
2024_0725: A fine assembly of smiling faces out to listen to poetry among the creekside cottonwoods on a gloriously smoke-free evening.
2024_0726: Reading between the lines of the historical marker celebrating the first school built in a reservation community in the wake of its opening to homesteaders.
2024_0727: Headache and low spirits after five hours on an interstate clouded by evidence of all the wildfires.
2024_0728: Clearing the detritus of the fallen willow tree feels like tending to the body of a loved one who has crossed over to the other side.
2024_0729: The wind-blasted landscape that hints more strongly of home every time I visit.
2024_0730: Whirlwind tour of every tiny bookshop in the shadows of the Backbone.
2024_0731: A surge of gratitude for the fleet of big trucks full of linemen rumbling out to bring the grid back up for all my struggling neighbors.
Chris, I loved the picture and the caption, "Road into the interior, Wind River Reservation, So-called Wyoming".
You're so good at helping me un-think labels and constructs that have no bearing on the long-term reality of Turtle Island. Miigwech! 🙏
I love sharing these thoughts and doings with you -- thank you. And the photos! That tree!