At 6:45 Wednesday eve I said goodbye and thank you to my landlady. Her name’s Laura. I spent hangout time with the two kitties Wednesday. They are Ramona and Leroy. They ain’t no Connie and Weymouth.
Over and over trips back and forth SE and NE, sacred possessions hauled down one set of stairs and then down another. Clinical diagnosis is “badly cooked.” It’s in the book, you could look it up.
Not a clue in the sky regards how my life’s gonna go further. I’m consciously wildly grateful just plain old waking up. Broadway Books, four blocks from the basement, said they’d take my three latest books on consignment. Long talk with a guy about maybe a job down the road, an actual invite to a training coming up. A damsel fly landed on my left arm and we hung out at the Rhody Garden quite a while. There was a magnificent bald eagle high up on a Douglas fir branch, and an absolutely stunning copper beech leafing its copper and bronzy self out on the grounds of Reed College. The computer’s in pieces in bags in a basement closet. The state gave poverty-level me a food card, but it didn’t work at Trader Joe’s.
The next one here is gonna be from over there.
from a mountain bench 
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