Two friends joined to hear Willie. A threatening tornado did not disrupt, care apparent. With Cypress Hill, a glitch in the matrix was read. Montana temporarily derailed the second wellness.

From a catwalk you were noticed, upon that catwalk we met. Saturn, on Moon’s shoulder, ephemeral. Day-of reminders appreciated.

John 5 plays Sanctuary. A bad moon was a rising. Electric Six truly spectacular, September Sturgill offered rhythmic structure.

I watched three fuzzy tailed bandits run up an oak one with medium sized tomatoes in her jaw. Dry winds high, big Jack ambled along with fervor; it might be the moon, he wondered. Under his wing she speculated. Black Jacket miming Zeppelin a bust.

Moonshine is bright. The moon! The fullest moon rises with the setting sun, in a sort of moon-sun chase; a day earlier she rises ahead of the sunset, while a day after, rising later; from another vantage, it could be the sun whose doing the chasing.

Toasted pickles were lost, another schedule aligned, a promising rigger trains.

The brightest moonshine often the coldest. It’s so bright!! Good morning, he offered, The moon! was also beautiful last night with a blue sky background.

Periodic musings anticipated.