A walk along Mill Creek this morning revealed chokeberries, elderberries, blackberries, cherries and apples.

Nothing like getting a free cremation offer in the mail.

I used to think the whole of my life was about writing. Now I know the whole of my writing is about life.

There is no self in other.

My advice to women: Worry about the size of your heart, not the size of your ass.

I was all exclamation points. He was all commas.

Having a state poet laureate is like having a politician in office who actually cares about her work and the constituents she represents.

I hate the fact that the erosion of our privacy is both embodied in and concealed by the innocuous and mildly aspirational term “sharing.” It isn’t sharing; it’s taking. We haven’t given; we’ve been taken. What we had we no longer have; we’ve been had.

Today I braid the garlic.

Gmail just suggested I change “bodhisattvas” to “bedsheets.” Really, Gmail? My sentence would have read: Bedsheets were placed on this earth, in throngs, for a reason—out of hope, desire, need and love.

I am the day.

This advice is from a wiki entry on how to take erotic photos of yourself, but it works for writing a poem as well: If you don’t like these results, try again in a different room or outfit.

I just had a phonological breakdown / emergency.

Me: I am married to you for a reason. My Husband: I don’t think that’s actually true.

These days, I always smell like sweet onions.

No matter what I wear, I always wind up looking like a soft turnip.

When a cherry fell into my bra on tonight’s glean, I probably shouldn’t have joked about having a third nipple.

I visited with eight alpaca this evening.

Let go and let good.

Today, I mistook a piece of sushi for an old philosopher.

Oh my God, I love the dirt. I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it. I am crying because I love the dirt so much.

I frittered away the afternoon apologizing to the cows.

Here in Eastern Washington, we like our liquor and our weapons concealed.

I feel like the neighbor’s chickens are heckling me.

Hayden smells like one part puppy, one part pineapple chunk, one part grandma, and one part cheese cracker.

My dog wants a dog. This is just like the time my robot wanted a robot.

Dogs: Lots of energy in the morning, lazy most of the day, excitable in the evening, lazy again until bedtime, wild burst of energy right at bedtime, sound asleep until morning. Me: Lots of energy in the morning, lazy most of the day, excitable in the evening, lazy again until bedtime, wild burst of energy right at bedtime, sound asleep until morning.

It makes me sad to think that when I die, there will be nobody left on this earth who remembers, loves and misses my father. I want to live a long life so my love for him will remain in my heart as long as possible.

Digging in the dirt turns me into an emotional, fragile weirdo.

The people in the weekend rental next door are being loud, so I am playing theremin music to drown them out.

Sometimes I am not somewhere until I am no longer there.

I can tell this day is going to be bigger than me, and that’s a good feeling.

I wake today with an awareness that we are not one country. We are many, with many hearts and minds. And some of those minds are closed, some of those hearts shut down.

We talk a lot about keeping our minds busy, but we also need to work at keeping our hearts busy.

When someone starts threatening you, you know you’re onto something that matters. Nobody makes threats unless there’s something to be lost, exposed or both.

What my new and old neighborhoods have in common: children’s laughter, kindness and love.

I found my hair twin at Walmart, which tells you a lot about my hair.

The next time I want to cast aspersions, I will cast a handful of wildflower seeds instead.