December
ups the heat. Under the house is not much cooler, the wrens keep clear of
stacked-up surfboards, water pumps, nets, broken dressers of hardware. Blue
glaze outside, under here is shadow dust. The curious case of holidays: still
finding something to do for an hour. Croft of tins, wire, yes garden tools, one
of those places visited once a year, maybe, yet familiar as the back of my
hand. Time for turning over planters for new herbs, rivet them in fertile mix
before the cool change. I wish for a rainstorm by afternoon, something oceanic
and electrical, then drenching.
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