The Toxics ComeOne of the problems of living high above the arterial highway down there in the valley is that bitumen floats. They are working on the road, down there, under bright lights. The great machines moan low. They must reek of the stuff to send the fumes all the way up here, on the wind: the breezes are being cruel this evening, and tote bad air. Back when the valley was filled with Mills, the tang in the air must not have been so strange. They will be done with the road soon.
Invaders have worked their way to the yard: poison ivy has found a comfortable home beneath the locusts. Well, it had done, anyway: with sleeves and socks and gloves and newspaper I pulled it, but it will likely be back. I must be careful there, now.
I pulled down some flowering boughs of the mock lime, and plopped them in a vase on the table. They are doing their best to sweeten the air. They are welcome.
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 pen@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.