May 29, 2019

Much writing, much submission. A little success makes these things more urgent, rather than less.

The picture is me at the edge of darkness, hauling water in a great can to the new chaste tree which I planted out of range of the hose.

The picture is me waiting for the catbird to fly before I can go outside. The frog
leaps from me, hits lily pads three times before he makes it to the water.

Early to rehearsal at All Souls, I sit on Becky’s bench in the garth. The campus overflows with the perfume of basswood.