As it turned out, I slept through some rain, and as I had forgotten to bring my yard chair indoors it was wet when I went outside this morning. The sky has remained mostly overcast since then, and the chair still hasn't dried out. I finally brought it in and put it in the path of the warm air from the furnace vent, so maybe I'll get to sit down outside before sunset tonight. Tonight I must remember to bring the chair in. It's going to be quite rainy tomorrow. Right now there's a bit of hazy sunshine, though it's too late in the day for any rays to directly reach into my small, high-fenced yard. But birds are singing, and even the mockingbird has turned up.
Things remain quite dull around here, and the inside of my head is even duller than the rest of the world. Could it be a lack of donuts that does this to me? Probably not, but lack of donuts is still annoying.
With No Experience in Such Matters
by Stephen Dunn
To hold a damaged sparrow
under water until you feel it die
is to know a small something
about the mind; how, for example,
it blames the cat for the original crime,
how it wants praise for its better side.
And yet it's as human
as pulling the plug on your Dad
whose world has turned
to feces and fog, human as ...
well, let's admit, it's a mild thing
as human things go.
But I felt the one good wing
flutter in my palm —
the smallest protest, if that's what it was,
I ever felt or heard.
Reminded me how my eyelid has twitched,
the need to account for it.
Hard to believe no one notices.