Saturday, September 10, 2011
I woke up to white mist all around the neighborhood this morning, but it's already floated away on this gently cloudy day, everything still wet from the long rain.
I stepped outside into a crow conference, and a squirrel on the tip of the roof over the bed of balsam, daisy, and mum, spoke to me in the rhythm of "Why are you here? Why are you here?"
Of course, he might have been talking to the crows or the howling dogs.
Speaking of which, I sent off some poems with animals in them to YB Poetry, deadline November 20 for the Animals issue, and you might want to, too! If so, go here for guidelines.
And here is their current donkey or mule.
Why be poetry, indeed? Because, evidently, I can't be anything else. Likewise, why be here. Take that, you insistent squirrel on the roof!
Sweet William persists, and touch-me-not.
And tomorrow we remember.