The Crows

So much moisture that the under-story is growing like mad, the blackberry and sumac, my patch of black cohosh is knee deep. Between showers the crows came back, the three of them looking like battered soldiers in a retreating army. They perched on the dead poplar near the outhouse and started squawking. I micro-waved mice for them, and they shut up right away when I came out the back door, they do love their warmed mice. These are old crows, I've known them for years, and they recognize me, they follow me on my walks. Like with the fox, this is not domestication, it's just critters sharing a piece of real estate. The crows should be down at the lake, eating hot dogs and potato chips, but the road is closed and no one uses that facility, building the new bridge; across the lake there are paddle-boats and canoes, grills and picnic tables, a nice campground; but my end of the lake, is cut off and isolated, old crows can't compete against the younger generation, so they stop by here, to see if I have a mouse. Mid-morning I take a nice walk down the logging road, there's some young poke, I like to roll it in very spicy masa and fry it in corn oil. The clear weather holds and I make a quick trip into town. Mostly I want a milk-shake at the diary bar, but it's Thursday, fresh seafood day, so I go on in to Kroger and get oysters, steam them open, and make a perfect oyster stew. It's takes about ten minutes, I dampen the coffee filter, to strain the liquids, with bottled clam juice, wilt some minced onion in butter, add the broth and cream. I have a couple of things I must do before next winter, put a new top on the back porch, change out the fridge, install a back porch railing so I don't fall on my ass, and build another bookcase in the girl's old bedroom. The book situation is reaching a critical mass. Jude sent this great book of archaic definitions. Covine, for instance, is just a deceitful practice by which two or more parties screw a third party. Stopped at a traffic light, I look out the side window, wondering who had screwed who. A small field of tansy. Another thunder storm, I'd better go.