This time of the year there is a busyness.  Not unpleasant, but time itself is confused.  Is it Friday or Saturday becomes a question, along with when did we last go to the mail?

   Fair weather stretches the imagination, making duty tiresome.  Distractions outside include living things.  The wife has much to occupy her in the studio, where creative consideration sometimes wanders beyond the windows. 

    Yesterday she painted those ugly white tips at the top of metal fence posts.  Mowed the slope and made a new kind of bread for us.  Today she caught a mole.  Large as a woolen slipper it was.  Patch of brown with a freckle of white on its soft tummy.

    Perhaps she can recall what I did, beyond watching a Tom turkey walk on by and wonder when it might rain again.

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