I've already packed my journal in a box otherwise I'd write down my first thoughts with a (not-yet-fountain) pen on paper away from prying headlights and army of ladybugs. Never kill a ladybug I was told as a child. They're rare. I have reason to rethink that policy, the place is crawling with them.
(Confession time: in the past I have vacuumed them up. I once actually had D change the vacuum bag to a completely fresh bag. The thought was I'd vacuum them up, they'd land in the new bag - catch & release! Turns out that the journey sucked involuntarily up the tube was enough to kill the lot of them. Periodically I have debugged the place via vacuum (swat, lemonade)).
But I digress.
To install antispyware is to invite the spies. (Ever so smart, that T.R.) So I heard a message in a song today or so I thought - walk to the end of your street (probably a paraphrase, that). Sounded like a command. I'll take my sweet time I thought, and continued with my metaphorical b.m. Eventually I got out there though. Nice afternoon. Pretty sky, lots of flags, so very many brand new trucks & cars. (Whaddya think - I'm blind?) Yes I saw Run Lola Run. What is this the sequel - no, excuse me - evolution, W Jola W. Memento, spelled sideways - no , no longer, now it's up & down. Mostly up. That I approve of.
So - walk to the end of your street. I wasn't really in the mood for a walk. I live on a deadend street (as keenly observed in a KZE song) so I figured to go past the B&B was to strictly speaking exceed the expectations. Perhaps it was hoped that I'd make it all the way down Chittendon Road to where I had once encountered the coyote. But I was tired and, as I said, not in the mood. So I looked for signs.
I decided to swing on birches, make a u-turn at the river birches.
So if I'd gone all the way
down the hill
past the teeny graveyard
past more eerily parked cars & trucks
in an otherwise utterly depopulated area
THEN might I have received deliverance
or at least a perfectly placed
skyward pointing kiss?
cc: cruel invisible hands
bcc: dearest darling
note, 8:50p.m. oh yeah, and this morning there was, racing up the deadend street, a truckbed of wheels - from cadillacs?