Blossoming thunderheads, scattered hens. The maple tree came down with a tearing sound, a hushing sound, a thump. Conversations in the gravel driveway leading where.
You made me remember my days in the basement. A plethora of tomatoes in one's mind. We found a buff chick nestled in the lilac roots.
A drop of rain, a gutted moose. How does a day become nothing more than a slash on paper? Louis L'Amour reconsidered as a useful counterpoint to Thoreau.
Timber drying by the river, bees skimming the Purple Loosestrife. Dreams of rescuing kittens somehow related to a metaphysical abdication. Hey - boiled coffee ain't so bad!
We looked for deer while driving home at dusk and saw none. Cabbage seeds, strangers, the bass lines of Johnny Cash songs. A face in the cellar window that resembled my own.
You know and I know that you wanted what you found in that sleeping bag. A lie is not the flip side of the truth but another narrative altogether. The sad thing is that we are all waiting for the same miracle.
Self-righteous bullshit mocks real effort. Beautiful berries indeed.