The sparrow

I got home from work at nine o’clock and decided that I would go down, through the gate, across the creek–socks mushy all of a sudden in my Adidas sneakers–and into the meadow for a walk without stopping to see anyone.

It's summertime in Montana, and because we ranch, because animals and plants and the weather are on their own time, I sit around and wait a lot.

I drink soda probably way too much. It's sitting here beside me in the car, full to the top of the Pepsi symbol, and the condensation is making the cup-holder damp. DN24, the light post says in front of the car. R6.