Thursday

Driving home at dusk, with a ring all the way around the horizon of rose, the sky filled with geese. There was such a wonder cultivated just by seeing the proportion of the sky with suspended things near and very far away drawn like a sheet across the previously nebulous, unknowable expanse, one corner traveling steadily towards the South.

I thought this might be the type of thing I would like to tell my wife when I got home from work. Then a flat black vintage truck gurgled violently past me, hurtling, and suddenly my bladder felt like a very taut ballon. When I turned the next corner into a neighborhood there seemed to be only a few aimless birds high up, slowly stealing away to the mountains.