Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. In this case, I am happy to present the TWENTY-EIGHTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences. For those of you new here this monthly edition, where I post the daily, single sentences that I’ve accumulated for the month-just-ended, is based on the practice that ultimately led to my first book, One-Sentence Journal, back in 2018.

It’s a simple practice and fulfilling … and also maybe not so simple as it may seem. Regardless, the practice is excellent training for paying attention to the small moments of my life, and I enjoy sharing those moments here. This remains the best and most consistent aspect of my writing life, and something within the reach of anyone who simply wants to be a more attentive participant in their own life.

As always, I deeply appreciate your time and attention. If you feel compelled to offer up a few of your own observations in the comments, I would love to see them. If you enjoy these monthly sentences, or you enjoy anything about this newsletter at all, please consider a paid subscription. Your support is more important than ever….

2025_0201: The literal, grammatically-incorrect, in-the-world definition of “crepuscular” is “the risk taken while traversing amongst an abundance of unwary deer.”

2025_0202: Harrowing conditions transform a four-hour drive into seven.

2025_0203: Newspaper headline reads, "Banks hesitate to lend in Indian Country...." and I bet every one of those despotic institutions has a land acknowledgement on their website.

2025_0204: For all the wind-sculpted drifts and low level mayhem, the big storm doesn’t deliver so much as a single snow day.

2025_0205: Mishomis emerges to supervise my two hour commitment to the snow shovel.

2025_0206: With such cold temperatures the snow is going to be here awhile and there will be zero complaints from me.

2025_0207: Surliness at bedtime proves I kept at it for thirty minutes too long and looked at my email one time too many.

2025_0208: With the thermometer creeping over freezing alongside a certain quality of light and cloud it is the absolute most false sensation of a budding spring.

2025_0209: A day to linger in passes all too quickly.

2025_0210: Almost ashamed at the indignation I feel toward this particular Monday, which dawns for me with first-thing responsibilities little different from most everyone else’s.

2025_0211: Nookomis rises almost full above Mount Jumbo and the artificial lights of the UM campus seem to dim for a moment, as if they take the opportunity to bow in recognition of Her.

2025_0212: The road north all the way to the Hi-Line in fresh snow under a cloudless sky bright with sun, accompanied by frigid temperatures, stills the heart not with the bone chilling cold, but with the transcendent beauty, both sides of the Continental Divide.

2025_0213: On the distant horizon east of where the lights of Havre challenge the darkness, Nookomis rises full and angrily red, glowering for moments, then disappears into the blackness of cloud cover.

2025_0214: West of the divide the temperature rises as quickly as the treacherous conditions of the highway as the snow continues to blow.

2025_0215: More than a dozen ominous huddled shapes in the bare branches of the cottonwood yonder and I feel their hungry eyes on me as I reload the empty suet cages first thing this morning.

2025_0216: February delivers a proper winter and not a season too soon.

2025_0217: I don’t know if I spent the day in eager anticipation so much for an evening at the movies as I did an evening crunching theater popcorn.

2025_0218: Somewhat burned out on talking writing, it felt good to spend a couple enjoyable hours studying animal tracks to refresh the curious mind, and to think I actually considered skipping it.

2025_0219: Traveling southbound, a grim story is relayed in clumps and smears entering into and across the floor of the men’s room at the Dubois, Idaho rest area that makes me hope that particular wanderer had a spare pair of britches and a full compliment of wet wipes on hand to resolve his situation.

2025_0220: All the stars at my fingertips under a southern Utah sky.

2025_0221: Hanger lends me speed and focus at 8:55pm to find a restaurant in a town that shutters itself at 9:00.

2025_0222: Leading a merry band of poets to join sign-carriers at the gates of Zion in support of national park service employees facing potential termination, I find some, if not most, of the sloganeering pretty tone deaf, and I shrug it off in service to solidarity.

2025_0223: This multi-day taste of sunshine and hours-outside-sans-jacket weather has heightened my anticipation for spring.

2025_0224: Near to sparkling, the Dubois, Idaho rest area men’s room today smells overpoweringly of recent and vigorous cleaning.

2025_0225: A full and hectic day hardly feels like one spent at home.

2025_0226: Traversing five hours across half the state feels a lot longer when the expedition begins in the early afternoon instead of at the much-preferable first light of morning.

2025_0227: Awake just after 4:00am, I stand in the darkness in the middle of my room at the Super 8 with phone in hand, the audio recorder running, hoping to capture the whistling and howling wind that rattles the room as if it is an open and exposed space, like the deck of a ship in the middle of a storm that I find myself reveling in.

2025_0228: Returned home on a sunny afternoon, so much of the snow drained away, and the bare branches of the cottonwoods laden with trilling red-winged blackbirds.

Thanks, Billings Gazette!

This wonderful piece by Jake Iverson ran a couple weeks ago in the aftermath of a shared evening at River Arts & Books in Roscoe, which was an event for the ages. You may read an un-paywalled version HERE.

Thanks, Big Timber!

Ideally, one shares a flyer before an event but I never did for this one. But that didn’t matter, because the town of Big Timber showed up for an event just a couple nights ago. I even sat down at the Timber Bar for a pre-event ribeye and the bartender, after taking my order, turned and asked, “So, are you that poet guy?” and I said yes, yes I am. Officially now the MTPFLG, to be specific.

In Hamilton, Monday the 3rd!

It’s a book club discussion at Chapter One Books in Hamilton but anyone can show up. If you are in the area, join us!

The Carter County Museum!

I’m heading way out to Ekalaka, Montana, to present at the Carter County Museum on Thursday the 6th. Does anyone from that area even read this newsletter?! If so, come join us!

Poetry Out Loud!

From the Montana Arts Council:

It's the 20th year of Poetry Out Loud! If you're in Helena March 8th, stop by the state finals to watch 15 high school student finalists and 6 alternates compete in this nationwide poetry recitation contest. The state champion will represent Montana at the Poetry Out Loud National Finals in Washington, D.C., in early May. It's a thrill to watch young people embody the spirit of verse, one of mankind's oldest art forms. It's free, and the public is welcome!

Semi-finals start at 10:00 am; finals start at 1:30. Grandstreet Theatre, 325 N. Park Ave., Helena. Poetry Out Loud is supported by the National Endowment for the Arts in partnership with the Poetry Foundation.

Friends, this is a wonderful event and I’m going to be there pitching in to make it awesome. If you’re in Helena Saturday, please consider coming out to support these wonderful high school students. I’m not a judge at this event, but the NEA has invited me to Washington, D.C. in May to serve as one of the preliminary round judges at the national finals. I’m looking forward to that!