Time management is really attention management.

As I reach the last pages in my current journal:

So many authors wrote one or two books but thousands of pages of diary entries that ended up posthumously published.

Would I want mine published? What if my handwriting were worse? How many revelatory works remain hidden within poor penmanship?

Rosemary and olive oil is the most romantic Triscuit flavor.

Always low-key thinking about the pea soup from The Rescuers Down Under.

The sublime intimacy of sharing your Spotify wrapped top songs playlist and it being carefully, tenderly listened to.

#spotifywrapped

The pileated woodpecker technique: loudly cackle before smashing your head into a tree repeatedly.

Processing emotions like

a butcher

or

a photographer?

Thinking about the scene from Balto where he creates the Northern Lights from a pile of broken glass shards and a little shift in perspective and maybe that's entirely how this year can be summed up (for me, anyway).

I used to leave the "sand" in my eyes when I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, to hopefully make it easier to fall back asleep once I returned to bed.

The reconstruction artists of the Amber Room had all sorts of obstacles to overcome, but the most interesting one to me is interacting with the insect inclusions in the replacement amber. Even a detailed photograph to work from can't replicate those buggy burls in their unique whorls.

Skimming fleur de sel, the flower of the sea's salt, is like harvesting the wind made crystalline and the ocean caught in the liminal embrace of sunrise, sunshine, and sunset.

Our seasons are
sweat
steam
smoke
and storm.