One-Sentence Journal, Weeks Eighty-Five — Eighty-Nine

  1. 03/05/2017:  For every hour that seems to pass in a minute, there are four — like those this afternoon — that last an eternity.
  2. 03/06/2017:  Watching this year’s favorite bird, the Oregon Junco (in the Trunco) hop, skip, and jump across the snow, prospecting for seeds on the crust below my feeders.
  3. 03/07/2017:  Leaving the house in the morning with only $1 and no packed lunch, I wondered how the day would play out . . . and then the universe provided a surprise gift card for coffee and cookies, then a soda, then pizza for lunch, elk meat nachos in the evening, and finally late dinner and drinks bestowed on me by a generous employer.
  4. 03/08/2017:  Up from little sleep in the earliest light of morning, no glasses, no contacts, I can see fresh snow has been covering the trees, my porch, and my walkway, but the street out front — dark, gray, and wet — with its irregular banks of snow, looks instead like a cold river.
  5. 03/09/2017:  It’s just fancy rain that looks like snow that falls all day and  makes everything a sock soaking mush.
  6. 03/10/2017:  The verdict on Howard’s Pizza is that while being a satisfactory option for simple dining, it’s no lateral move replacement for my beloved, much-missed Tower Pizza.
  7. 03/11/2017:  The beginning of the day was warm and sunny, and for the first time I think I began to feel that eagerness for spring.
  8. 03/12/2017:  Up half the night with a cough, today was one of lethargy and  distinct disinterest in much interaction at all with anything other than a cool breeze on my face.
  9. 03/13/2017:  It would be a lot easier to stifle my morning soda addiction if there weren’t so much compelling, passive aggressive melodrama going on every day among the employees of my usual stopping place.
  10. 03/14/2017:  A single hen in the yard yesterday and roosters crowing somewhere in the park at sunrise today is a welcome herald of, hopefully, resumed regular yard visitations from the neighborhood flock.
  11. 03/15/2017:  “One good thing about daylight savings time is that the time on the stove is correct again!” is just one example of the never-ending cavalcade of laughs around here.
  12. 03/16/2017:  When the PBR plans dinner, one ends up having frozen pizza from the convenience store more often than not.
  13. 03/17/2017:  Gates open at Council Grove and the binoculars reveal that mama owl is back and hunkered down in her nest inside the big hollow snag.
  14. 03/18/2017:  A saunter through a little mud and across a little ice to the banks of a big, swollen brown river, with a light sprinkle of rain and mist against the hillsides to make things even lovelier.
  15. 03/19/2017:  Is that the beautiful song of the Western Meadowlark, Montana’s state bird, that I hear these two days in a row now in the fields nearby?
  16. 03/26/2017:  Kid hits culvert and is bucked off quad-runner which promptly rolls over him; before I can inquire as to his alright-ness, he gets up, clutches at his ribs, then mounts back up and takes off again.
  17. 03/27/2017:  Finally made it back to yoga class after being under the weather for over a week, and getting my ass handed to me never felt better.
  18. 03/28/2017:  Tundra swans in the neighborhood; a dozen-plus glide across the sky.
  19. 03/29/2017:  So strange those first moments of spring when I emerge from windowless indoors expecting anticipated darkness, only to find daylight holding strong.
  20. 03/30/2017:  Empire building rests on deadlines of many small projects and I’ve let several pile up on me.
  21. 03/31/2017:  It’s criminal how easily the concept of “Pay Day Pizza” was sold to me.
  22. 04/01/2017:  Turns out the strange bird lurking about the yard lately is a chukar.
  23. 04/02/2017:  I made delicious BBQ chicken pizza for the first time in years, and damn it if I won’t be hard-pressed to want to make it again tomorrow.
  24. 04/03/2017:  Driving storm covers the yard and bird feeders with snow that disappears just as quickly with the return of the sun, which arrives with two male/female pairs of evening grosbeaks, the first I’ve seen this year.
  25. 04/04/2017:  Fifty years old, old, old today.
  26. 04/05/2017:  4 AM on the front porch, no avian clamor from the trees, a faint whiff of skunk on the air, and a single rooster crows way off in the distance.
  27. 04/06/2017:  Thursdays are way better when they are my Friday.
  28. 04/07/2017:  So many people out on the streets downtown for First Friday, which I love, even though I just can’t bring myself to be out among them.
  29. 04/08/2017:  Started the day with four miles or so up the Rattlesnake, which was still pretty saturated after a deluge or rain the night before, and the highlight — besides the joy of just being out — was a long moment spent watching an American dipper playing midstream on a rock from a perch on a fallen log at, arguably, my favorite spot creekside.

Author: Chris

Chris La Tray is a writer, a walker, and a photographer. He is an enrolled member of the Little Shell Tribe of Chippewa Indians and lives in Missoula, MT.

3 thoughts on “One-Sentence Journal, Weeks Eighty-Five — Eighty-Nine”

  1. I love how somewhat-parallel our days seem to be: I too measure time by bird sightings and weather; my car clock is now right again(!); and my days lately have been “empire building” by deadlines as well, but dammit, you’ve made me realize how I’ve been greatly depriving myself of pizza. I sure do miss the Montana meadowlarks and chukars though. I’m glad I get to experience them briefly through your thoughtful words. Love your descriptions of the juncos “prospecting for seeds,” the street “like a cold river,” “fancy rain”—and, of course, your wit. Thanks for sharing, Chris.

  2. Thank you both, Heather and April. I never know what people think of these random things. It makes me happy that at least a couple here and there seem to.

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