Mourning dove in the lilacs, a hummingbird by my ear, and along the edge of the clearing a screaming unknown--a young hawk perhaps?
Black coffee, two quarts of shelled peas scalding for the freezer, and the Irrepressible flirting his kitten whiskers as he races up and down the cellar stairs.
Stabs of sunshine through the tamaracks, raspberry briars loaded with green berries, a bed of sweet corn that was not knee-high-by-the-fourth-of-July, a load of towels quivering on the line.
Bright red reading glasses, Jane Austen, and three tiny vases loaded with white rosebuds.
Ticking clock, a restless poodle on guard, the Irrepressible shot from his own cannon.
The gaze incomplete, the curious stammer, the new-washed sky.
2 comments:
I love the images.
And what is the kitten's name? or will it forever be The Irrepressible?
His given name is Ben. Mostly I call him Pest Pest Pest, but his Dickensian name is the Irrepressible. As you can see, all of his incarnations favor the short-e sound.
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