In the HinterOne of the nice things about living in the specific urban blob that we do is that it takes very little driving time (except, perhaps, during rush hour) to get out, out into remarkably agrarian spaces.
And so, I am here, far away from the shimmering mechanical hum. Instead, the air is alive with birdsong. A carpet of tiny violets invades the slate stones that cut a path by the garage and out into the back yard. There are things to be pruned, and dogs to be walked. At night (but not this time) the milky way peers from the heavens, faint but true.
The most amazing thing is that the backyard (which is something right there, frankly) backs right up against a large clear space of farmer's field given over to knee-high grass, with nothing past that but some cows far on the other side of the dell, and trees. All trees.
And if one is lucky, one can stand on the dewy edge of that field early in the morning with steaming cup of coffee in hand, and have a whole flock of birds rise up from hiding in that grass as one, to swirl into the sky and be gone into a new day.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Commentary accepted at comment@goob.com, although the traps are agressive and the pointy bits simply drip with dark liquour. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.