Night Noise

The geese had moved across the lake, to my side, seeking the shade of the pines. A bit thick in the bottom (I know they can fly, but I always have to remind myself) they waddle around my truck. I have a batch of old bread I bummed off the salesman at Kroger. Having learned my lesson, I throw it out the window, and start a young riot. What's missing, in these younger flocks of geese, is any sense of discipline. They still manage a decent chevron (my heroes) in the air, but they are inept on the ground. Speaking of theories. It's hard to walk up the driveway, because the footing is so awful, but coming down, in the truck, isn't so bad, and I think it's an inertial moment. Two thousand pounds of truck with good brakes, I can control the line; going up in 4 wheel drive, I'm at the mercy of the ruts. The story of my life. I've eaten, had a last drink, gone to bed, and the dog goes ballistic. I grab the sawed-off shotgun from the hidey hole, pick up a flashlight from one of the stations of the cross, and charge outside, wondering what has disturbed my sleep. Fucking dog has treed a coon in a sapling poplar. A delicate situation. I tie up the dog so the coon can get away. I'm tired of this shit. It's not my place to intervene. I don't want to be bothered. Bach's second wife was Anna Magdalena, not Mary, I'd been drinking and miss-remembering things. I listened to the Edgar Meyer bass transcriptions, early this morning, three of them, then the other three tonight. I can't imagine why Siblin doesn't mention them, they're in my pantheon of the recorded Suites.