“God is an experience,” an old man said as he reached for another cookie.
I swear I read somewhere that your uncoiled intestines can reach the moon.
We stood by the window and watched the howling dark, even though this isn’t what you should do in a tornado.
A lone helicopter crossed the sky. The temperature dropped. Dogs barked. Birds stopped chirping.
I’m learning to find pleasure in the ultramundane and routine.
"Virga" is the name for precipitation that does not reach the ground.
Every year I feel a little more vertiginous.
Why does the wind leave us feeling so exhausted and harassed?
I had no idea there was so much weather in the desert.
Here in Las Vegas, we’re catching the faintest edge of a weather event that sounds like something from a fantasy novel.
A heat dome has settled over the Middle West, the moon was extra bright last night, and I saw a rainbow in the parking lot yesterday.
I never know how seriously to take anything anymore.
And for a moment I wonder if it will keep raining until everything is washed clean.
