Vanishing point by Christina Rosalie

Everything couldn't be more uncertain, more tenuous, more questionable than they are right now. T. is thinking about quitting his job. It's been too many months of nothing. Shoestring hardly defines it any more. Is there a vanishing point?

Trying to push through and get this proposal sent today.

A million things converging. Exhaustion, for one. Worry. The way everything is heartbreakingly beautiful right now: wet and green and new. Snow still on the mountains; the red flush on the hills of the maple buds; swallows building nests above the bay windows; a clear, wide, empty sky; the piercing call of a circling hawk.

(Also, if you haven't, please go be a backer... it's getting close. )