Sumac

In a day the seed heads of sumac went from yellow to orange on their way to red, colorful change in the verdant green. Increasingly becoming spam, if you miss me, of a given night, check ridgeposts.blogspot.com where Glenn is posting them. Anybody know how to send them individually from a list? Kim? I hate being dumped. Watercress at Kroger, so I buy some, and an English cucumber and a package of those light rye rounds, make a plate of sandwiches, with butter, I love these High Tea sandwiches. Carma sent via D a piece of cherry pie, seriously good Mom-and-Pop Diner cherry pie, rolled and pressed edge-crust, fresh filling, maybe my all-time favorite breakfast, but I can't save it, eat it after the sandwiches. Planning tomorrow, insofar as that's possible, in the morning, with copious coffee, what I want to do is write about Missip, then some brush work, clean up, a pork-fried-rice from leftovers, get a drink and write you. That's my plan, figure I'll read for four hours, between events. A marathon day. Fucking dog, man, I could hear him running up the driveway, a beagle for sure, barking and polluting the sound-scape, a screw works loose and I go and get the .22, when he zips past my back door, chasing a fawn, I lead him and pull off a shot, send him ass over tea-kettle, suddenly quiet again, that's what I mean. I put on gloves and drag his mangy carcass down the logging road, downwind, out of sight, let the crows, resplendent in their glory, out of sight; it was, after all, someone's dog, but there isn't a guilty bone in my body. Falls under that umbrella of protecting your space. I like that last line, I read it several ways, it's the way I pass my time.

Three crows might mean
nothing, not a blip on the
radar, less than nothing.