Observing, collecting details as “glimmers of a beginning.” A way of finding a story to tell. That was the challenge this week.
Somewhere outside my window a machine hums incessantly for the second day in a row. Its motor drones, the constant whirring sound punctuated by louder grinding noises. Like a monster being fed, its appetite is ravenous. It will not be sated. My husband would be at the window checking to see where the sound is coming from, which neighbor has wood to chip this time of year. But my husband is at work. And I am too lazy, too disinterested to check out where Smaug is being used. It doesn’t really matter in whose yard the machine/monster feeds. Noise is noise.
Our yard has lots of trees and an overabundance of bittersweet. The vine sidles up alongside the trees, curling a sinuous path out along limbs, growing thick…
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