My lawn has become c(l)overed.Theories vary:–longer times between mows–plants adapted to grow low–the extreme heat and rain.First was Spring’s dandelionization.Pollinators continue rejoicing.

Terry Pratchett, my championfor ↑ annual goodreads #s.Humor, adventure, and magicjostle each other totennis match my eyes.Each of the 40-some booksstand alone, yet intersectat places, histories, characters.All are set on a (Disc) worldthat is carried on the backsof 4 elephants& a mighty turtle.

  Reading Bono’s bookis reading The Bible.I take it slow, to savorhis focused meticulousnessto get it right in the telling.As an Irishman, his daringto be honest in the tellingis luxury not been affordedover so many lengthy, dedicated oppressions.

Mlady kneads the air,purring her wayback to kittenhood.Teenager air guitars,twanging his wayto rock stardom.Crone thought bubblesa fading yesterday;a fuzzy tomorrow;“what a beautiful morning!”

  “You sure are nosy.”I was told as a child.Naive, not knowingI was in a placewhere you don’t ask questions.What parentwould be so heedlessas to drop me there?

  There are 7 fish in the tank.One is territorial,a passionate bully.She is afraid of nothingexcept me,the omnipotent deitywho stops once a dayto bring light and foodand passes by once in awhile.This morning, on my dailystop, I stayed.She froze in her cave.Six fish with full bellies.

  They say a house is like a person.This morning, after lookinginto a cupboard that is fullI find only half is crammedwith things I use.The other half is crammedwith things I used onceand might use again –but rarely or ever do.A house is like a person.