A full pint basket of beautiful ripe fruit — I picked the last of our blueberries yesterday.
In the evening, the first flight of geese. The gentle summer continues.
By the front step, on the big rhododendron, next spring’s flower buds have already formed.
Before lunch, I ate one slice of a fresh, sour, Gravenstein apple. I could feel the juice on its way down, spreading a tart panic.
It is perhaps three weeks since I have seen or heard a towhee. But suddenly the flickers, which have also been quiet for some time, are making themselves heard.
The people who live in the big two-story house up the street to the east of us are moving to Florida. With the help of family and friends, they have spent the last several days loading their belongings onto a truck. Now the truck is full, and there is a trailer attached. On the trailer is one of their two vehicles. I wonder who will water the zinnias they planted to help their house sell.
A great many years ago, I wrote a short story called “Delirium Detail.” It was narrated by someone going through the belongings of his deceased friend, who had died at an early age. His death was brought on by an acute case of laziness and brilliance — a fairly common occurrence. The story has not survived. But I have. I am neither lazy nor brilliant. I have tried both. Or, rather, they have tried me. I think I might have outlasted them.
August 9, 2019
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