Chilly here on the farm--upper reaches of the San Pablo tract, where parked semis and yardbirds meet, en route north along a winter's road. Yesterday: three crows in the mimosa, black black black against whirl of softer grays. Nudging left, hops and skips, make me room. Cluck or two, but mainly not--their silence, just above.
Good morning. It's Sunday again, sound of rain on skylights now, dark within. All as predicted--the weather, the fare--a rice cracker spread with peanut butter and berry jam, black coffee in warm glass. Greetings to Thelonious, solo in San Francisco, years ago--and to Po-Chü-i, beyond beyond...
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