Thursday, September 04, 2008


Blue sky, a thick dew on things, a morning silence as if the birds have their bags packed and are ready to go. The beauty of fullness is at the empty husk of hunker-down. Even in mid-summer winter is a memory, a promise, and no magic potion will push it off forever.

Patch of sunlight on the floor of the garage, like a page torn out of a book, left as litter. A surprise of knowledge, the surprise of ignorance.

A small push of wind in the flag at the cemetery. The road heads north, I go to work for pay. It's for less than a month that I shall be doing so in such a fashion as this. And then retirement from gainful employment, yes.

Walnuts on Watson Street in Ripon, pretending to be tennis balls. They don't fool me twice.

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