March 4, 2010. Thursday.
Situation: Work tonight, take Mway out about 12:45.
State of the Path: I hear crows as soon as I step outside. In the walled garden, I see in the snow the shadow of a bird flying overhead, but when I look up I’m blinded by the sun. Our land being on a slope with a northern exposure, there’s still much snow on the ground, but about half of it is gone; about half of the path is bare. Down by the creek, I hear what I think are crows again, but when I look up I see bluejays flying into the woods on the other side of the creek. I see another bluejay or two as I’m walking along the creek, and some gray birds that I can’t identify but perhaps are sparrows. Coming up from bug land, I hear more crows and then see some flying around. No cardinals or mourning doves today.
State of the Creek: About the same as yesterday.
The Fetch: Up in the clearing, I stand off in the snow and toss the stick the full length of the clearing. Three fetches. Back in the back yard, I find Mway standing in the yard, and I immediately think she’s dropped her stick somewhere. No sooner do I ask “Where’s your stick?” than I spot it at the door on the back porch. Mway runs up to the door, picks up the stick with her teeth then drops it, as if to say “Here’s my god damn stick, if you need to know.”
1 comment:
I mean, even if you are a lazy and mediocre writer yourself, a far cry from a Joyce, who refuses to research his topics, refuses to revise and revise, content simply to slap forth whatever slop you’ve slapped up in a few minutes before the world’s eyes – plus some kind of criminal on top of that, on probation for DUI – despite all that, I still by and large look up to you to tell me what I should and should not do. M.
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