By Michael McGriff
Two decommissioned highways cross
and continue toward their borders
with the casual certainty
the dead carry in their sample cases.
Leaning against the wind
I notice tufts of fur in the air
and a driveshaft rising from the sand,
then the horsehair of a violinist's bow
drawn steadily across my neck.
Wednesday was fine but unenthralling -- the highlight of my afternoon was folding laundry while watching State of Play, which I got in the mood for because of Rachel McAdams, Helen Mirren, Russell Crowe (shut up), and my half-remembering a plot about the privatization of homeland security which seemed timely. Turns out I had the ending totally confused with the not-as-good ending of The Ides of March, but obviously I needed a rewatch anyway and quite enjoyed it. Adam went clothes shopping with my mother (!), who brought me a pewter owl pen, while Daniel was watching with me (no one's laundry has been put away yet).
It was a six-bunny, four-chipmunk, one-deer, multiple-squirrel afternoon walking in the glorious cool woods. California Tortilla was having a free chips-and guacamole giveaway, so we went there for dinner. Then we came home and watched Heathers, since we had subjected the family to Mean Girls the night before and wanted them to see from whence it was watered down. The Orioles and Nationals both had good days, and I just watched Stephen Colbert's tribute to his mother and now I am teary. Here are some photos of the neighborhood bunnies, whom I always see when I only have my phone on walks with me so sorry about the quality: