Morning walk. Sunday. The dew drops fooled me for rain. Acorns strike gutters, my neighbors car. The neighborhood is two shades more yellow today. Not knowing my insects, is that monotone whistle a cicada? Feeling guilty for a moment, then jealous, thinking of Gary Snyder’s native knowledge. Crows caw. United Church of Christ bells in the distance. A thump in the woods, then again. I love the wet pavement this time of year, it runs straight through me. I can’t begin to translate the language I walk on, along graveled Peach Lane, how it meanders through perfect woods and introduces audible overload at this hour after dawn. I question how many silly fools tired themselves already with the government shutdown, picking sides hopelessly. And how much beauty they’ve already missed today in their morning clothes.
Photos: Sunday Morning Walk, Spinnerstown (Michael Ast © 2013)
