10 July 2012


Sometimes a serving spoon sits JUST the right way in the utensil container, and the overhead light from the stove bounces off of it JUST SO, and the little spotlight that it creates on the wall is so pretty, so heavenly, SO JUST RIGHT that it transfixes you and your Sunday-morning hangover as if you were a small Midwestern child, freshly emerged from a station wagon and a nap and fourteen hours across both prairies and highways, rubbing your eyes free of Oklahoma-borne sleep and experiencing your first blurry glance, your first bracing, salty, sand-pecked mouthful of ocean air, in any September, on any rocky coast America has to offer.