By Bruce Weigl
I didn't know I was grateful
for such late-autumn
bent-up cornfields
yellow in the after-harvest
sun before the
cold plow turns it all over
into never.
I didn't know
I would enter this music
that translates the world
back into dirt fields
that have always called to me
as if I were a thing
come from the dirt,
like a tuber,
or like a needful boy. End
Lonely days, I believe. End the exiled
and unraveling strangeness.
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Monday had less rain than both weekend days, at least until evening, but we had to make an unexpected trip back to the vet because despite having used up Effie's ear infection medicine, she was sneezing and stuffed and not interested in food which is the most concerning where she is concerned. The vet said her lungs sound fine and the ears look a little better, though she renewed the prescription, but thinks Effie probably has some kind of allergies, considering that we were in there almost exactly a year earlier to the day with the same symptoms, so there will be more prescriptions, blood tests, and exams in her future.
We managed to walk to the beach before the rain returned; we're forecast to get a bomb cyclone tomorrow, and the eagles, geese, and ducks seem to know it because they were further inland than usual. Then we came home, put on Monday Night Football around dinner until it became obvious that Dallas was going to lose, and watched Watchmen: Chapter One, which isn't nearly as great as the TV series but still has a lot of interesting things going on and good voice actors. Now we're watching this week's What We Do in the Shadows in which vampires aren't nearly as evil as corporate dudes. From Golden Gardens beach on Saturday:
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