weekday: in fact, can't remember the last. A to-do list. Ignoring it,
I sit out back in the summer gazebo listening to the sounds of my
unknown daytime neighborhood. Snowmelt drips from the roof. A shrike
cries. Hammers pound the distance. A quiet mood, gifts of Alan Furst
and Nick Drake. Wonder if my children will call? Suddenly, a smile
that means "house box!" Floating up from a subliminal depth, that
thought. We could have a house box, a family stamp. It could be a
puzzle, it could be a gift to our guests. Now? Do it? Jump to it? No,
sit a while longer in summer wicker while this winter sun and this
extraordinary moment last. Then.
Jay in winter backyard dreaming CT
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