we are not thinking about tomorrow yet. we are not thinking about how sunday will give way to monday and monday to tuesday and so on and so forth. we are not thinking about the hard things yet. not thinking about the things we did not finish. the things we should have said but didn't or maybe should not have said but did. we are not thinking about these things, these broken things.
instead we are thinking about leftover birthday cake and christmas trees. about the avocado that might (might) be ripe in the morning. about the story the security guard at the high museum told us, the one about mick jagger. we are thinking about neon yellow ginkgo leaves and the click of the canonet, the last of the mashed potatoes in the bonne maman jar in the back of the fridge and how good it felt to sit in a dark theatre and let c'mon c'mon swallow us whole. we are thinking about the christmas tree farm that was barely a christmas tree farm, more a junkyard than anything, how that seemed to make us love it even more, how a guy named mike handed us a saw and said, any tree, any size, 35 dollars. we are thinking about the sun like honey and the smell of pine on our fingertips and the tree we cut down and tied to the roof of our car with twine that mike gave us. we are thinking about the long shadow of our car on the way home, christmas tree on top and the way we pointed at it: hey look! it's us! it's our tree, we said. tree sap high, sugar high, thanksgiving break high, finally enough sleep high, everyone is home high.
these are the things we are thinking about.