July 2, 2017

Day of the animals. I looked out the bathroom window at the first of morning and my rabbit was sitting in the grass, grooming . He has more red in his coat than it looks at distance. I felt blessed having him. I ran over the places on the property where he can hide, but he probably already new them. Sat at High Five under my crape myrtle writing, and a weaver finch flew onto my plate and took bites out of my croissant. I said “Little brother, fortune favors the bold.”  Then the dog at the next table walked over and put his head upon my lap. Cleaned out the filter on the pond, and ladled three huge tadpoles out of the mess. They were warm--perhaps the water is warm–and felt like gelatin in the hand.  Went to the studio but turned around and came home without lifting a brush. Revised “The Forest Road.” Thought of the time in Galway when it was night and I was having sex with a Spaniard on the grass near the beach, and a night soccer game raged all around us.