A Few More Sentences – 35
Waatebagaa-Giizis (Leaves Changing Color 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 THIRTY-FIFTH 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. This remains the best and most consistent aspect of my writing efforts, and something within the reach of anyone who simply wants to be a more attentive participant in their own life.
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. If you enjoy these monthly sentences, or you enjoy anything about this newsletter at all, please consider a paid subscription. Your support is more important than ever….
Before We Begin, and I’m Looking at You, Good Missouri People!
I’m putting this edition together from a hotel room in St. Louis as I have an event with the magnificent Sarah Kendzior at Left Bank Books tonight at 6pm! Provided you are reading this on Wednesday, October 1st, that is. I hope there are folks reading this who can make it. I’m a huge fan of Sarah’s and I’m looking forward to spending some time with her.
Now, the Sentences!
2025_0901: Labor Day travel ends with a “Boozhoo!” for the gathering crows of Portland.
2025_0902: Similar to last year, wildfire smoke is sadly an unanticipated feature of a late summer swing through the Pacific Northwest.
2025_0903: How the weight of these cities must crush the backs of the under-compensated millions entirely responsible for keeping them propped up.
2025_0904: Not even a scolding can sour a few brief moments of quiet solitude in the heart of the big city.
2025_0905: Hundreds of miles from home a couple firm handshakes and a gifted pair of elk teeth cement another Little Shell relationship.
2025_0906: The angry and entitled old white guy refusing to wait for his turn to be seated is thrown out of the restaurant because he can’t not be an asshole.
2025_0907: So much magnificence tucked in along the seams of so-called flyover country.
2025_0908: Reminded at the Salt Lake airport that the only thing that triggers my rage more than a swaggering gang of cops is a well-dressed and cultish pack of fresh-faced missionaries.
2025_0909: Fox News on the hotel breakfast room television is trumpeting video of intrepid reporters on a ride-along in Chicago with ICE thugs as they roust some alleged “illegal” with a history of sex crimes and I’m wondering if anyone has given them directions to Notre Dame and all those Catholics, given it’s just down the highway from there?
2025_0910: The only reasonable response is “thoughts and prayers,” enit?
2025_0911: Not even sputtering millions-strong ignorance and utter societal collapse can spoil my glee over encountering a Jim Harrison action figure at the most legendary bookstore of Mississippi.
2025_0912: Hot and a bit sweat sticky may be the perfect condition for properly experiencing the Blues Highway.
2025_0913: Tapping my foot to jazz – JAZZ! – in a peaceful state while near sprawling on the grass sprouting unnaturally from blood-soaked soil.
2025_0914: Three complete journeys in a single long day.
2025_0915: Home from the road, the hummingbirds vanished.
2025_0916: Encouraged down from the stunning vista at the top of a mountain by the yearning whistle of an elk bugle.
2025_0917: Hoping the return of the magnificent fall sweater will be enough to bring all the birds around for one final visit.
2025_0918: If only the soreness of unfamiliar labor was flushed out with the sweat of it.
2025_0919: Light too pale to call morning and the distant elk are back at it again out yonder toward the Superfund site.
2025_0920: It has been ages it seems since I’ve spotted gookooko’oo perched in perfect, dangerous silhouette against a darkening horizon, and then, tonight.
2025_0921: Under blustery skies on the final afternoon of the season, the wind chimes sing the vacating spirit of Niibin a traveling song for the road.
2025_0922: A morning on the phone, an evening feverishly packing.
2025_0923: Nine gorgeous hours through Montana in perfect cloudless light ends still in Montana; the traverse not a circle, but a swerving, straightish meander.
2025_0924: The mighty, slow moving green and brown Red River of the North.
2025_0925: Wild and precious, the words, the reflections, the phantoms of all the older than human relatives long absent that, sometimes, make the relentless hours of traveling less lonesome.
2025_0926: For all his yammering on about why he thinks it’s okay for white guys to write about Indigenous culture and trauma, the privileged old white guy at the lectern seems nervous and I hope it’s because he can sense my indignant intention to ask him why he thinks it’s only white people who ever recommend his books to me, and never, NEVER, Native folks, but alas, he manages to fill his entire time slot with his rambling.
2025_0927: As though the world had been inverted for the briefest moment, the highest peaks of the Tetons at sunrise appear dipped in amber.
2025_0928: Six moose spotted before the coffee has even cooled.
2025_0929: Over the low rumble of a neighbor’s pickup idling far longer than necessary: a pair of owls in conversation to share the morning darkness with.
2025_0930: From above or below, clouds shapes never disappoint me.
9-13-25 Pulled up short on the highway, I am annoyed at this unplanned hitch in my Saturday morning until I see the fresh wreck just ahead, strangers in scrubs running toward the wounded, a guy vaulting out of his pickup to redirect traffic, four cars pulled over on the sidewalk to call 911, reminders that at our core and at our best, we mostly want to help one another survive all the violence of this world.
Where can I get my Jim Harrison action figure?