Another hour spent outside watering in the smoke, which is much thicker this morning than yesterday. The air, though, is noticeably cooler. The windy time has passed; I saw several spiders calmly working on their webs. I also heard the squawking of a scrub jay, and a brief exchange between nuthatches. A squirrel caught my eye; like an ordinary pedestrian, it was making its way along the sidewalk across the street. A few minutes later, I saw, too, a very slow jogger, and one regular walker. The walker was moving faster than the jogger. If their days were sands in an hourglass, I wonder which would live longer. I suppose that’s like asking which is heavier, a ton of feathers, or a ton of bricks? From an old farmer’s perspective, this much can be said: the ash that is falling will be good for the soil.
If I were to go back outside now and tilt the street, all the marbles would roll off. Why do I say this? Because a street-sweeper just passed by, kicking up a huge cloud of ash and dust. To operate a street-sweeper in these conditions, the driver must have lost his marbles — unless, of course, he had none to begin with. Marbleless, darling, simply marbleless.
Spokesman. Smokesman. Idle. Idyll. Idol. Addled.
September 10, 2020
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Categories: Everything and Nothing, New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Ash, Diaries, Fire, Forest Fires, Journals, Marbles, Nuthatches, Smoke, Squirrels, Street-Sweepers, Wildfires, Words