February 25, 2014

Newcombe Tree Service blasted to atoms the black walnuts in the back yard, leaving behind the caterpillar tracks they swore they would not do. I don’t care: it makes the yard look like an old battlefield, a kind of texture. Their work is complete; it looks like the trees never were, which I find melancholy, even though I ordered it. The thought that I saw a bluebird fly out of one of the trees one summer torments me.

Absenteeism in the Tolkien class. You don’t expect that. People bring notes and you want to say, “Just come to class. If you wanted to be sick you shouldn’t have taken a night class.” Some think that because it’s a fun topic they needn’t be serious.