Hawks

 

March 24, 2023

Fully a quarter of my dreams involve being on stage. Perhaps I gave that up too soon. Last night’s was violent. Three of us were in a famous three-man show and realized we had to go on without having rehearsed the play even once. We got into a terrible row with our director, who was concerned about our costumes rather than the fact that we didn’t know the show.  She said she cast us because she figured we could handle a situation in which there had been no rehearsal. 

Shopped at Reems Creek, brought home hellebore, celandine, hollyhock, and heather. Some of that got into the ground today, some will tomorrow. Now that my car is damaged, I no longer hesitate to fill it up with pots and bags of dirt. 

Sweetboi and Denise have moved east from where they dwelt last year, almost in the same spot they occupied two years ago, when they ate from my hand. I sat in the garden after gardening, and they flew over, crying, their beauty and valor so great I sat in my chair sobbing.