After a long and arduous trip on the road, I'm back. Boulder is bright, life is new and I return, to call home, a 1979 RV, by Ford's motor company.
About a mobile home, I had my reservations. The bull of my moon wished for stabler pastures, and yet I have found them. From Hygene a wonderful woman named Shirl hailed back about my Craigslist posting: "Quiet young man seeks 23' ft to park his RV on. $200/mo."
When last I had my own home, it was on a farm, out that same piece of 36 that winds along the golden Front Range, toward Lyons. 15 minutes to the coffee shop now, it is good to be back on land, with quadrapeds. On the farm my neighbors were three loquacious cows and a black stallion, once a race horse. A piece apart, on the way to the front fence were two goats, bleating always, their cries for willow branch, when it was in season. We did not know why they loved it best, but it was supposed that it was for its analgesic property, and I always cut a switch or two for them, when not in a rush to the car. I loved their rectangle eyes.
I'm throwing up some photos from Seattle in the summer. This was my best remembered piece of the travel, the rest being tribulation and better left un-kept by these annals.
Two friends of mine, from back in the days of high school, before we had cars and we walked all over the suburbs, slow and lazy, like kings, now live in the big city, working at Sipp Wine Bar, downtown on Madison.
Its a great little black bar, full of shimmering.
Even on a dreary day, the aperitifs are good and the leggings tasteful.
This sunny day, before the 4th of July, was no day for black leggings, however and the good people of Sipp gathered on a bright roof top.
