February 22, 2023
Ash Wednesday
It’s noon and I have had a busy and a happy day. They who prescribe physical activity for melancholy are right. Moved the from-the-first-moment-horrible picnic table and opened the many square feet of driveway under it that had been taken over by English ivy. It lifted up in mats of impressive mass. Dug up the poor nectarine that fell on its side the first year and somehow kept living. I am sorry for that.
Inhabited a few summers after I arrived at 62, soon abandoned and since rotting away, Carolyn’s purple marten house has finally crashed to the ground.
Melody’s house is. I think, re-inhabited. At least the pattern of lights changes from night to night.
Sang for Ash Wednesday, received the ashes. Saturn and Jupiter hung about the scimitar moon. A bat flew across the Cathedral just as we prepared to enter.
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