R. smelled skunk on waking. i went out to look around. but the skunk must have run off. which way? is this the skunk run, a mown lane between an old barn and corn field?
We’ve had critter encounters, sort of. The phoebe-bug-spider observation. A phoebe, in-flight, drove a bug into one of several webs, then backed off as a giant spider began feverishly winding it. But the bug escaped! The phoebe gave chase, snatched it back flit across to the powerline and swallowed it! I stood at the porch door looking through the screen, watching the web and drama, surprised.
The bear must have come up the driveway. The image, of course, is not of the driveway, but our ragged wildish landscaping.
Spring in Maine is mud. We don’t call it spring, but mud season. It is mud and road surface load limits written in bright orange; it is frost heaves and more mud. There is mud, congealed or stiff, in ridges and ruts at the local airport. The light planes, clearly things of the air, can hardly negotiate the rugged unpaved ramp.
I pulled out in the Subaru, driving slowly past the yard next-door where the otherwise unemployed fishermen—laid off from the ski resort—were planting shrubs for their landlord in partial exchange for rent. There was a bit of yardwork and clean-up to be done after winter and, as I passed, the tall one displayed a large fish head. Grinning at me, he dropped it into the hole he had just dug for a flowering shrub.
when praying for snow, in hopes of a soft cover over three inches of ice from the oh-so-gentle-looking ice storms…when praying for snow in order that one might go skiing or snowshoeing…please don’t tell anyone i did this…as a lot of tax money has been spent plowing roads…and businesses have had to close temporarily…yet everyone seems merry if you chance to meet….
So please watch what you pray for.
Let’s everybody pick up stakes and go back to the place of our birth so’s we can be taxed and counted by Caes— by the government. There’ll be so many trains planes steamers—uh diesels—and automobiles moving over land sea and air that the angels will have a hard time keeping track of it all. (This presumes that universal physical laws and materiality are charged to great disciplined beings continually moving to carry out their respective stewardship.)
Here’s Johnny’s Bridge all over again, images taken on the morning’s bike ride. They’ve been replacing the bridge over the past two weeks, and aren’t done yet. I think I told you about the history of Johnny’s Bridge and how it brought us together with the local historian? After I asked around on how it got that name, Bob, of Bob’s corner Store and Texaco fame, directed us to the man who has been the community bridge to its own history.