deer hoof deer leg up to the first joint... deer bone deer fur... deer leg in my passway... just before the path crosses the treeline into the back field where all the wildflowers bloom in a month or two... deer leg... leg of deer... what's eating the deer in my neighborhood... a broken branch on the path... what's ripping the legs from deer in my neighborhood...

this morning i was feeling sorry for the poor dead deer, but this afternoon i hear that one was nibbling on the rose bushes last night... and might have chomped down a third of the tulips... though that big old rabbit is another likely suspect... the wildlives around here will have their way with a garden... they didn't do much damage last year... this season feels different... aw hell... let 'em eat... and be eaten

cardinals got a good wake-up call... loud and clear... i've been sleeping with the window open because heat rises... and round about a quarter to five the red bird sings... we're used to it now... the cat pays no mind... i wake up and consider a walk...

i like talking about these things because they feel real... unlike the bulk of a day buried in a book or staring into this bright window or moving from room to room... thinking thoughts that are hardly thoughts at all...

i'm listening to robert johnson right now... come on in my kitchen... it's going to be raining outdoors... because i've been reading august wilson's The Piano Lesson steeped in southern spirits and dread... odd thing for a play set in pittsburgh... the soph honors are reading it while working on their gatsby projects... webbing key passages from the novel... come late next week we'll be wrestling with frontpage... let it be

Nature, like us is sometimes caught
Without her diadem.

Emily Dickinson

 

 

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