Status Updates From My Mother Is Now Earth

New thing to be scared of: wild trees

The phrase 'fancy restaurant in Bemidji' breaks my heart. I do not love living in the north country. Can sympathize perfectly with the resentment of living away from home in the isolated, godforsaken small towns of northern Minnesota, especially after living in a proper city near family, friends, people, activity, culture.

The time for dancing has long since past.

I remember the first time I heard a loon. I have not heard a loon howl, but I remember hearing the loon cry on Movil at twilight. The sound still has a simultaneously chilling and calming effect on me.

What would we see in those captured moments of ourselves in the past, those crucial little moments on which our fates rest but somehow pass by unnoticed? Can we choose to float into the sky, or do we always have to come back down to earth?

This chapter captures the cold, the bleakness, father's pie-in-the-sky dreams, mother's harsh reality realized again and again. Can't help but feel set up for some heartbreak here.

Holy shit, yes. Holly was right -- this is, hands down, the perfect description of a northern Minnesota winter. Hell, this winter. . .

If she follows the snakes, will she leave a skin behind, too, somehow?

The snake stories, like the snakes within them, were released upon the earth in the winter with no escape or return.

'We are going back in time.' I felt this way, leaving Madison for Bemidji.

Wow. This is already an emotional heavyweight.