Big Timber, Montana

At the North 40 coffee shop I order a muffin. Extra butter pools on the hot white industrial plate, waiting for the muffin to cool, waiting for the shakes to stop that flick my fingers like fly wings and for my thoughts to even out. Filtering water out of ditches has left me wanting, my head sun punched by heat that comes with perpetual walking that sweats my soul out through my brow and shirt. The day before yesterday I sat by the side of the road to bring my pulse back down, down out of my head into my chest. My boot was untied and I could not remember how to tie it again. I tried three times then waited as I sipped hot water that tasted like stagnant pond, leaves and old traces of lemon tea. By the time the coin of shade from a small tree had left me again in the sun I could remember the loop in lace my brother taught me 39 years ago; appreciate the need to knock on a door for more water... knock on a door when I saw one. Summer lingers on.