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In 100, by Nora on July 9, 2020 at 10:47 am

snaking dust-warm slot canyons to make richard serra jealous, pictographs, jumping sweaty into frigid lakes, scrabbling on slickrock, underwhelming driveway fireworks and benignly restrictive utah liquor laws, an oblong, yellow moonrise over sagey breeze, like a huge plate rising over the edge of the horizon, obliterating the gathering dusting of stars, greedily but evenly shared plates on a dark porch, music tinnily intruding from a spotifying cracked iphone, dusty legs on creaky floorboards and papery-thin cottons thrown over sun-warmed arms in a lazy attempt at shielding from the finally-cooling air, shivery rustles through the brush and grasses, bees now silent. 

  1. nora you are sooooo goood

    i hope these moments were as beautiful as you make them sound

  2. @wyatt nah they are all secretly trash lol

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