one-sentence journal
week 1
Hello world. It’s been a while — good to see you again. I missed you.
First off, I want to shout out Chris La Tray at An Irritable Métis. He’s the author of the One-Sentence Journal and played a big role in inspiring me to begin this practice. In a world filled with a million and one distractions, sometimes a couple of sentences is all we can muster. Sometimes it feels like just enough. Other times, probably lacking.
But one thing is for certain — committing to the practice feels far better than not. So here we go — a small step towards awareness and appreciation of the everyday.
1.23.26
the waitress in butte called me hon and told me she’d pray for me after i told her i just came out of an MRI tube. the face of a middle-aged man bussing dishes as tired as it was wholesome, proclaiming ‘chop-chop’ as he clears crumbs and coffee cups, wondering if everyone has enough water.
1.24.26
the kingfisher flew past with a fish hanging from her mouth, securing life through one more winter night on the east gallatin
1.25.26
eyes not on the road, eyes on Harrison’s poem ‘Birds’. a road where you can read and roll at ten mph is my kind of road, lifting your head in time to see the northern harrier out your window — birds.
1.26.26
a solo raven sways and surveys the road ahead, in the south wind like a sharp, cold exhale. in this fencepost odyssey, straight lines extend into the pastel expanse, and the future is here, now, on jack creek bench. rubber on the gravel road, a rhythm as steady as the raven.
1.27.26
three dollar bridge, all to myself, alone but not lonely, rainbows and browns remind me why
1.28.26
a call and response between two owls, the ideal substrate for dreaming. they paint my morning 1,000 different colors, exchanging centuries of wisdom across the winter sky
1.29.26
full moon soon, but i can already see her moon shadow in the pine tree peak reaching across the creek in the black night, like a white knight reaching for her golden hair sunrise
1.30.26
i saw a glacier lilly come out of his diesel exhaust, spring tenderness born out of a battered upbringing, yellow petals falling from a box of metal, for everything dad didn’t give him, and the winter took away
I aim to publish this weekly for the foreseeable future. I’m also thrilled to be starting Lone Blossom Books — a used book store — so keep your eyes peeled for updates on that!