Marveling that that raindrop has managed to penetrate the complex skein of intervening tree canopies to reach the sidewalk exactly here (looking up from the wet mark it’s become) — “a million in one shot — if that’s what’s actually happened.”
Another fleeting fragmentary scent as I rub my nose, making me wonder if any odd orientation of the olfactory sensors there will result in a sensation of scent.
Right there is the point where, if the car intended to yield to my right of way, it would have stopped or started to, I imagine. And so I retreat.
Day one cherry blossom tree or dogwood blown over by the wind, day two chopped so that only bottom trunk remained, day three trunk covered in snow.
Forced to cross the street in the place I always used to because they’re working on power lines ahead… Fire engine performing 3-point turn into the garage of the fire house…. Gas prices “moving sideways from last week.”
Black skid mark perfectly centered within one white strip of the zebra stripes, sides perfectly parallel to the white reflective stripe.
Find empty Advil box on the ground to be put in the trash — but it’s not entirely empty, there’s something in it, a bottle of Advil?– no, an old chicken bone, still some of the fried breading around the top and base of the drumstick.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 