February 21, 2026
Talk of Blake with PR. Mixed in with a whole lot of talk about the Prophet Amos.
Combed the yard with a trash back in my hand, picking up the detritus left by winter. Plastic. Food containers. Beer bottles. Objects whose original use I don’t want to know. My lot is on a curve: things fly from windows, get tossed from the hands of cyclists.
Turkeys in the yard today.
Beethoven’s Tempest.
Dream of A, which must have got mixed in with watching the Olympic skaters. I worked to help her keep her studio, an operation accomplished by helping her skate to obscure places on a vast frozen lake unseen.
The west lot teems with bluebirds. The sudden red flare of the red-bellied woodpeckers.
The Spanish Madness
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