We find our sacred spaces. The pic above was taken at the Cuming City Cemetery just north of Blair, Nebraska. Storms rolled through the day before and on that Saturday morning the wind was mussing the grasses on the hill in glorious undulance. The leadplant was in bloom, a subtly mauve takeover in humble bunches as you climbed the hill. White sagebrush, too, and lots of prairie clover. Sumac seemed to be creeping toward the overgrown plots since the last time I’d visited the site. Most of the graves were relocated a long time ago, so now It’s preserved prairie, never tilled, with views of the wide, Missouri valley and Iowa bluffs, pasture, and a few commodity fields. The Missouri has flooded to the roadside ditches leading north from Omaha. There are lakes and rivers in Nebraska but all the best meditative, contemplative moments are accompanied by purring grasses.

Some goodies on this mix, starting with Nap Eyes’s psychedelic lullaby. I kind of just threw the songs together this month. Is there anyone making lovelier pop than Japanese House? My gosh. And I suppose I shouldn’t fall for a new Soccer Mommy song that sounds just like Phoebe Bridgers (sick of her), but it’s really lovely, too.

Writing has been okay. I’ve whittled down a couple of strange stories to the 2,500 word range and have sent them out here and there, but now they seem a little… scant? Or silly? But no, not silly. I love them as unfailingly as you would your dorky child you send off to school knowing they’re going to have a hard time finding friends. The world is full of self-satisfied, dreary baboons. They want us to be commodities, plastic dolls. We can’t hide but the searchlights become spotlights and all we can do is dance.