Ash Wednesday

 March 5, 2025

Folia on Pandora.

Ash Wednesday. Surprise phone call from Jason, and now my yard is full of Mexicans working at a red heat. He speaks to them in what seems to me fluid Spanish. They’re doing more than I wanted, but I know that later on I will wish it to have been done, so– Sound of chainsaws. . . I can’t look. 

Read America: a Prophesy for our Blake seminar. The mightiest poetry that ever was in English, though blowing in from a place so foreign one doesn’t always know what’s going on. 

Late afternoon. Started Folia again. The gang finished up in one day rather than the prepared-for two. I’m glad of that, and not only financially. The procedure was surprisingly stressful. I had to stop myself from running out screaming “Get out of my garden!” They cut down Sweetboi’s perch. I asked them not to. . . but. . . .things did not always translate. All six workers were finishing up, and I asked, “How many of them are in danger of being deported?” Jason shrugged, said, “I don’t know, but if they send them away, I close my business. I can’t go through that a second time.”