Even a wild boar
with all other things
blew in this storm.
— Matsuo Bashō
By noon it was eighty degrees. I ran my usual loop through the neighborhood under a generous sun, the sky that particular blue that makes you forget winter ever existed. By mid-afternoon I was in the garden turning soil, pleasantly tired, not thinking about much of anyth…
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.