Teeth

I'm here to say something:

Always trust me with the night.

I’m here to tell you that this night makes much less sense than you think it does, you. Trust your uncle. Trust me with it.

I’m here to tell you that the word is spoken louder than you imagine it can be. Trust your nephew. Trust me with it.

I’m here to tell you that the dogs are much harder to train than you are convinced they are. Trust your father. Trust me with it.

The night is the word and the dogs are the night and the word is a whine in the evening.

The teeth are still buried. They sprout speeches. Families pick them. Chew the stalks.

Talk for hours.

So always trust me.

Make tea:

Bury teeth. Water them. Wait for sprouts. Care for them. Bring them to a young bloom. Pull the ivory-colored leaves from the stalks. Dry the leaves in the sun on the window sill.

Boil the water. Get a strainer. Pour the water through the leaves. Infusers make it too strong.

Then, there will be words. Blog with them. I would.

If I could.

***

Going on a two week vacation. This blog will most likely not be updated during that time. Maybe. Most likely. I don't think I'll have time. I'm pretty sure I won't have time. Maybe on the 16th, though. Maybe. Possibly. Maybe not, though. Definitely after that.

But not next Monday. No. Certainly not next Monday.

I don't think.

Maybe.

Probably not.