Overcast yesterday at a peanut-shaped lake. The air was still, the trees barely indicating any atmosphere. Chickadees whirred electrically.
The cottontails seemed tame, but hopped off as soon as a certain buffer was breached. Two black crows walked like Egyptians. They were thirty feet apart but followed the same basic path at the same basic pace. Their type of black, like coal, contains deep indigo. And grey.
At lunch, my father spilled a cup of powdery Parmesan cheese on his chair, swept it up into his palm, and shook it off in the yard on a pile of golden dry cedar leaves, where it remains. Lucky mouse.