ㅁ A yellow moon rose over Olympia's firs, out by Rainier to the east. Aging hippies and their kids and grandkids and a few great-grandkids sat in a circle composed of memories and regrets and the sweep of time singing old Bob Dylan songs. The moon's light grew bold and enjoined the night to listen.
– a free-form poem.
I caught my uncle smiling.
He hasn't been doing that much, these days, so I felt very lucky. I don't even know what I'd said in that moment – something about replicating the custom of photographing food. We were having a dinner out at the King's Pub – the restaurant that my cousin owns in Forest Grove. It was a pretty good dinner, anyway. And Arthur smiled – the photo was pure luck, since I didn't realize he was smiling until I was looking at the photo I took later.
Today, we're driving up to Olympia for the weekend, to visit old friends as a sort of large gathering up there. I may see some people I haven't seen since I was a child. It will be interesting. I think Arthur's up to it – he gets tired easily especially in social situations, but he'll be able to just stop interacting if it gets to be too much, I reckon.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
