I am mullein seeds fallen into spider webs between the art you made and the wall, the dried marigolds picked throughout summer, the sap stuck to our fur and toes. I am the pink salmon sky closing out the longest day of the year, a meteor streak across the sky as you drive down highway 30. I am the first sip of coffee, the dead bird in the yard, the rabbitbrush in bloom. I am that song going through your head that you have to sing aloud to free. I am the low sun in December, casting long shadows across the valley, the boisterous snow geese flying through the night. I am made up of moments, changing rapidly, without asking.

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