Wink and Dash

Out of the blue Dad sends me a card in the mail with Brett Farve on the front, hearkening back to a time when I was a Packer's fan – and his little girl.

In physcian-scrawl he calls me by childhood names of endearment and says how proud he is of me, “for some obvious reasons but also for the lots of not so obvious reasons.” I'm “real woman” and hero. Well, it's late but maybe not too late.

Let me tell you about the affinity for men and their written words.

Palm-sized rabbits wink and dash through clover after a wicked rain storm popped up out of nothing. Jauw's trash cans were carried down the street as the backed up sewer drain filled the cul-de-sac with a foot of water.

Mushrooms on my mind. Maybe asking what Love wants is the morel of the story. :)

A nut hatch spirals down the wet oak. At almost 9 p.m. a few birds still call and answer across a weeping canopy. St. John of the Cross and his friendship with Teresa of Avila are a certain framework one could ponder on such a night as this. What has been sacrificed indeed!

Lex finally arrives and says I look different. She flops face down on the couch and tries to squeeze a nap in before band camp. We all gather around and pepper her with questions about her travels, her loves and her music. Her quartet arrives on Friday to rehearse unencumbered for a few days. She's too tired to give details and so we all wait a little longer to know what will soon enough be yesterday's news.

At 5 a.m. it is hard to underestimate riotous birdsong rising from every direction in the almost-dark. Maybe all that is left to do is smile and await the magic of fireflies.