Down There Now Nibbling

 

Staring up at the Gunks.  It’s been raining and raining but now, suddenly there’s a clearing and the skies are blue  I’d called my dad at 8:00AM when we usually head out.  It was raining.  “No Thanks.”   It’s 10:30AM.  I just called him back. “No thanks.”  Should I head up by myself?  I imagine the pristine setting at Lake Minnewaska.  I might find some chestnut oaks and bear oak shoots to bring back down here.  Some ground hog or deer,  must have nibbled away the striped maple I have in a pot on the side of the house.  The unsuspecting deer is down there now nibbling at the elderberry.  Tempted to escort him off the lawn but I don’t suppose it really matters. 

 

I’ll probably just do for a bike ride.  It’s the third day of a fast and it feels like it.  My normal absurd Friday morning schedule was twisted around last night with an early evening nap that yielded energy to stay productive from a call that ended at 11:00AM till the one that started at 2:00AM.  From there I was into the routine Friday morning calls that took me till 5:00AM.  I napped then before a call I’d unhesitatingly agreed to have moved till 7:00AM.  Hazy I’d set the alarm for 7:55AM.  I took the call then.  And by then, the day was underway.  

I’m listening to Trouble’s show, from yesterday for the second time.  In honor of Bastille Day she'd arranged the whole program to profile the Francophone.  We’ve got this circular gloom of Serge Gainsbourg’s appropriately titled “Comme un Boomerang” on the air just now.  There's a lovely black and white version of the clip with photos of him.  I just took the time to look up the English translation of the lyrics.  Would it surprise you that I’m not surprised that the song is about a hopeless, unhealthy, alcohol-fueled love affair?

The deer is eating grass, but he’s getting really close to the apple tree I’d planted not long ago.  That’s a trip wire, Bambi.  You can eat the weeds on the ground but you reach up to denude that granny smith tree I’m coming after you.  Over on the porch there’s a squirrel who is sopping wet.  He stood there and scratched his underarm over and over again.  I guessed that he had a tick or two.   Squirrels no doubt can be annoyed and perhaps killed by such things too.  The clouds have covered back up most of the blue.  Not clear that I would have avoided rain up on the Gunks, even if I’d gone. 

 

 

Friday 07/09/21