One-Sentence Journal, Week Seventy-Five

Happy New Year! Now let’s not waste any time….

  1. 12/25/2016:  A waking dream of the most beautiful of white Christmases.
  2. 12/26/2016:  After back-to-back days of nonstop snowfall, the appearance of sunlight glistening off a landscape buried in winter nearly pulled tears from my morning eyes, and not from the glare.
  3. 12/27/2016:  The first day after a long weekend in which a new film revived my love of Star Wars, the eternal Princess Leia passes away.
  4. 12/28/2016:  Inspired by a book of poems from Robert Lee, I write, “I am made of boots scraping on snow, frost on the inside walls of my closet, and clouds of breath hanging in the air of my childhood bedroom.”
  5. 12/29/2016:  Up late after playing a rock show, feeling more and more irrelevant to the people we typically play for, the majority of whom are easily young enough to be my children.
  6. 12/30/2016:  Tired, irritable, and a little braindead, I find myself wondering what Henry David Thoreau — a pencil maker himself — would think of the one I’m scratching words onto paper with right now.
  7. 12/31/2016:  The day ending cold with sunshine — after tracks along the creek bank, deer and elk on Mount Jumbo, and a good, greasy plate of my mom’s cooking — followed by a quiet evening at home, isn’t the worst way to close out a year.

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6 thoughts on “One-Sentence Journal, Week Seventy-Five

  1. G.B. Miller

    Sounds like you had a boffo time closing out 2016. I can sympathize about being irrelevant to the younger generation. Many is the time that I’ve had to explain a pop culture comment from the late 80’s/early 90’s because the person I’m talking to is usually two decades younger than me and simply doesn’t know anything beyond 2000.


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