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rejectomorph

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The Possible [Mar. 27th, 2016|08:34 pm]
rejectomorph
Late this afternoon puffy white clouds topped the mountains in a long procession heading southeast. Maybe it's already snowing up there, the flakes piling on earlier snows that have already been compressed, thawed and refrozen again and again. If it isn't snowing already it soon will be. Tonight that ground will be soft again, and the deer and lions and other beasts will leave tracks in it. There will be no snow here for the feral cats to track in, but there could soon be rain. The evening smells damp and promising, but rain is by no means certain this far south at this elevation.

Well, the yard is still well irrigated from the last storm, so it's not big deal if we don't get more— although it would help with the weed-pulling I'm soon going to have to do if the ground stayed damp longer, and rain tonight would help ensure that. I'm sure the feral cats would prefer that it stay dry out, though. I'm sure I'd prefer it myself if I were a feral cat. Sadly, I'm a human who, though he has a place to stay out of the rain, must fix his own dinner instead of having it brought to him in a bowl. But I have plenty to cook, because I got a couple of Safeway coupons good for ten dollars off on orders of fifty dollars or more, so I was able to stock up on some items I usually don't get.

And I would like to say that Easter Sunday is the very best day of the year to go shopping, at least in this town. The stores were nearly empty, there were plenty of parking spaces, I didn't have to dodge any carts pushed by legally blind old people, or wait for any aisles to clear out before I could use them, and I zipped right through the check stands. And I got ham. Thank you, Jesus.




Sunday Verse



A Certain Kind of Holy Men


by Alden Nowlan


Not every wino is a Holy Man.
Oh, but some of them are.
I love those who've learned
to sit comfortably
for long periods with their hams
pressed against their calves,
outdoors,
with a wall for a back-rest,
contentedly saying nothing.
These move about only when
necessary,
on foot, and almost always
in pairs.
I think of them as oblates.
Christ's blood is in their veins
or they thirst for it.
They have looked into the eyes
of God,
unprotected by smoked glass.

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Comments:
[User Picture]From: daisydumont
2016-03-28 07:37 pm (UTC)
Glad you had ham! I had shepherd's pie with lamb. Because I don't cook, of course, I ordered in. Mmm.

That's a heck of a poem. I'll go look for the poet by way of that new invention, Google.
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