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in explorer-mode, I stroll along

a newly discovered trail.

its path, dotted with hedge apples,

weaves and winds

through grassy woods, gentle hills

where cattle grazed, not so long ago.

I’m as thrilled as a child, the child I still remain,

transported beneath an autumn-blue sky

to a magic surround, one I don’t ever want to leave —

you can’t make me!

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we discuss AI, the Battle of Thermopylae

one’s personal canon, pop quizzes on Halloween

self-checkout, self-nurturing bedtime podcasts —

I feel closer to you now than I’ve ever felt,

our long-distance mother-child symbiosis

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This afternoon would have been Day 4. It was marked on my calendar, for quarter past three: Feed Sourdough Starter. The soupy concoction was rising nicely, building in size, growing larger. Yes, indeed. My little kitchen experiment, my first attempt at making starter for sourdough bread, was humming right along.

That is, until I preheated the oven to warm up a couple of slices of leftover pizza. Argh!!

Per the instructions on the website I’m following, it’s important to keep the starter cozy and warm in a 70-to-75-degree environment. The site suggested placing the jar, with the bubbling, potent mixture, in the oven with the light on for short periods of time.

However, I forgot that my sweet, little monster was in the oven when I set the oven temperature. To a scorching 400 degrees.

Ruh-Roh.

So. Back to the drawing board. Begin again. And this time, I’ll place a sticky note over the oven controls every time that space is ocupado!

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autumn leaf portraits

matted on grass & concrete walkways

wooden decks and neglected patios

entire galleries of art

beneath our feet