I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Monday, March 26, 2007

Night again

Well, the commute home today was during actual daylight hours. The buzzards have returned. I saw them on the way home (although Hinckley is on the opposite side of Cleveland). At least 50 of them at various times. The largest congregation was about ten individuals, trying to find a thermal about 30 feet from the ground.

Today would have been a good day for thermals, the air current not the underwear. It was in the 70s.

So we have the windows open this evening, and the Spring Peepers are chirping merrily away. We have a lot of water and a lot of trees, things they like. There are places on the drive home that even with the windows closed they will drown out a radio on low volume (like listening to NPR).

These were probably the frogs I was hitting all last week on the commute home. Frogs on a dark rural highway at night appear as white lumps. Most just sit there, strangely enough right in the wheel tracks on the black asphault, I think because of the friction it is warmer there. But then some jump madly, more up than across. Little white blobs jumping up and down as you're bearing down on them at 60mph. Heart wrenching little crunches. There's only so much swerving you can do.

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