I prepared a lot of old journals for recycling yesterday. While ripping out pages I came across this passage from January 2016 and thought I’d like to record it for posterity:

I’m sitting on the springy chair. Legs tucked. Skitters lying sphinx-like on me. Reading about the training of a goshawk. Thinking about Skitters. And what choices she has. And what choices we make for her. And liking that she has chosen to sit with me, or rather on me. I can feel the warmth of her furry body on my legs, the pointy bones of her knees. The movement of her body as she breathes. I can see her body move as I breathe. And then there’s a sound outside somewhere and her head snaps up, her ears pointed forward twitching like radars