friday morning

I throw open the windows to let in a surprisingly cool mid-August breeze.  I sit close to hear the cottonwood leaves rustle as they tell their stories.  A crow calls, soon he will be joined here by his brethren on their winter roosting grounds.  A cardinal chips, probably while out there eating the grapes growing on my neighbor’s arbor.  I’ve been finding them on the deck railing lately, pierced through and emptied of their insides.  Out through the sun porch windows I see a hummingbird pass by, lingering first at the crape myrtle blossoms.  On the stereo now, Walker and Jay play their twisted and gnarled mountain music; the sad soulful notes swirl around this round table where I sit and soar up through the window screens to the grey skies above. I have two doors to paint today and that is something.

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