Last night feeling of winter as we walked home past strings of white and colored lights in the chill air, bellies full of Meat Combo from Ras Dashen. In the park, you brought me to a play structure, we can't leave until I finish it. 

Last week I spent several days wrapped in the love of good women on an island, walking evergreen avenues in the pitch black, staring up at the sky punctured by stars. We ate turkey and venison and performed murder mysteries. We sat quietly and wrote. We soaked naked in saunas overlooking the bay and the mountains with people of all shapes and sizes. We built a fire each night or morning, returning to the Dream House tucked back in woods full of rusty cars and boats, and played with Little Bear the wise and always-busy black cat, his eyes full and clear and yellow.

In two weeks I will be in Oakland, wrapped in the envelope of Mollie Wolf.

For now, I am wrapped in the envelope of impending leaf loss, The Book of Daniel and Traveling Mercies, the warm piercing wails of Fever Ray and the mile a minute spit freestyles of DoseOne, and the arms of the man I am becoming happily lost in.