By David Wagoner
Along the ledge and the fence-rail past the holly
Silently, easy-mindedly moving
Through scarlet-and-gold dawn under green branches
Into the garden, the old racoon, trespassing
Calmly (with one indifferent glance at the window),
On his hindlegs rises against the birdbath,
A starling in his mouth. He washes it gently,
His ringtail brushing slowly among roses.
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Paul went out early for a routine physical, meaning that cats were very concerned and out of sorts and had to come sit on me earlier than I'd intended to wake up yet I couldn't get anything done. When eventually they permitted me to move around, I discovered that my post here yesterday, in which I limited the full extent of my rage to pointing out that there were lying murderers in Hamas, had cost me a friend of over 20 years. Now that I know what an antisemitic piece of shit she is, I won't miss her in the least, but it will never not be upsetting to discover that there are people who hate Jews so much, they'll unfriend us over stating something that is undeniable truth no matter where you stand on the war.
So I'm still not in a great mood, though I had a relaxed day with routine chores and some more pleasant online conversations with old friends. We had raccoons in the tree right behind our deck in the afternoon who were a lot of fun to watch as they got irritated when the rain began and nudged each other down from the tree, which we saw both from inside and outside when we went to walk by the lake. Our evening has involved watching The Gorge, which was a better movie before we actually saw what was in the gorge but had enjoyable performances by Miles Teller, Anya Taylor-Joy, and a wasted Sigourney Weaver, and now we're watching Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy, which has only had one scene I found moving or believable.
