That Old Common Distraction

Thunder rolling outside the east-facing window. Clover rustling where last week - or was it longer - baby robins first took flight. What a world in which to find oneself. Dreams of wax and perilous heights signify another ellipsis. I am what are you. He wrote later I wish I could take a picture of that thunder. Take one more drive through southern Vermont? There is no it and it's a problem. We ate apples on the broken bench, watching traffic navigate an open sewer hole, not talking. Like wading through suet, he said of the last time he voted before he died. We are all in motion anyway. Does it come down to relationship? I confess that getting worked up about the essential conservatism of nouns more or less escapes me. On the other hand, horses, Jesus and certain collections of letters. Oh that? The hum - growl perhaps - of lawn mowers and the occasional car on Route 112. Doing things, going places - that old common distraction. We are forever outside a lunar perambulation. Nobody wants to disappoint. Your focus on biology is going to be the death of you! Another cup of tea and then I really will be done and gone.