Sunday is trash night at Mosquito Hill. As I was loading the cans into the truck this evening, an old friend texted me.
Sometimes when life imitates art it is beautiful. Often it’s poetic.
I’m not enjoying tonight’s poetry.
https://notesfrommosquitohill.com/2009/10/knowing.html
Different truck. No stars tonight. Same feeling of dread.
Thoughts and prayers for whatever they may be worth.
Notes from Mosquito Hill 