WITH A FEW CLOUDY NIGHTS IN THE MIX

The mind dances here and there, rarely in a linear fashion. So what’s on my mind these days? How about counting on these fingers?

~*~

  1. A hummingbird flits from the bee balm into the asparagus fronds and then off before my wife can get to the window to see it. That’s the way our bird-watching goes. You really can’t reply, “Just a minute.”
  2. How quickly the summer’s passing! Largely uneventfully. As fleeting as last year? Maybe I finally need to find Big Eddy, aka Frog Rock, in Swift River in Lincoln, where one daughter delighted a few years ago. Jump right in for the hey of it.
  3. Bumper sticker: Stamp Out Lighthouse Art. Anyone want to add gulls to the list?
  4. Finding a cleft of 60 anemone while tide-pooling leads later to Edmund Gosse’s Father and Son, a most remarkable book. Illustrations and text, ultimately.
  5. There are some nasty horseflies, too. Enough to drive you from the water.
  6. In the dining hall for our annual sessions in Vermont, the milk dispenser has a lovely illustration of cows in their shed, dining hereabouts. Happy and healthy, right? One detail strikes a sour note for me, though. These are beef cattle, not dairy. So much for the milk touch? Now I’m wondering if they’re steers.
  7. Caught between a fear of chaos, on one side, and numbness, on the other, I’m overwhelmed and paralyzed. All fall down!
  8. One thing I’ve learned about the big Perseid meteor showers each year: in this part of the world, you can bet the heavens will cloud over by midnight.
  9. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised anymore by those times when the temperature a few miles away can be 15 degrees cooler or warmer. Especially when at the beach, when home’s been blazing.
  10. Do I really fit in anywhere? Have I EVER? (No, the likely answer.)

~*~

Maps of the London Underground (commonly called the Tube) cover these boxes. I think of them as Tubular Thames.
Maps of the London Underground (commonly called the Tube) cover these boxes. I think of them as Tubular Thames. For now, all 15 are stacked in our third-floor guest room.

She bought one box at a yard sale, came home and discovered it was full of ever-smaller boxes with the same design. As author of a novel called Subway Hitchhikers, how can I not be delighted?

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