b'adon, mon ami. All for one. Three from six. And five from two.

 A kind of dread rumble across the way.  Like a deep-well sputter, like thunder rumbling, and a cacaphony of alien rhythms.  Have you listened to the terrestrial radio lately?  I wonder if any really do, but they say they do, except for the Country/Western people.  Can't even stop them with shotgun shells and log chains.  "A drinking song this early in the morning?"

Like God coughed across the way, children talking and a little dog yapping.  The noise mostly was not such a bad thing, the trimmings of life broaching the otherwise constant din of the breeze.  Reminds one that he is alive, and part of something more.

Somewhere then, some old hulk was to live again and move the way its makers intended it.  And meanwhile, my own thoughts, the daily post was so late, and the thoughts were calming even while wondering if some calamity had befallen them.  My thoughts calming, and somewhere in that a new sort of transcendent sort of confusion, which I guess is life, as it has always been when you slow down to hear it and coast along over its own subtle rhythms in quietude.

There is a kind of obscuring brightness of a shimmer along the grass, a film of dew, and bumping against the peach tree: the sleeve dampened.  Scattered cats half-dozing, doing their own existentialist contemplation of the very nature of being, and me going on and on about nature, even as one pooed a liquidy discharge at the end of the driveway.  My favorite of them stepped in it later, not caring one jot, but more or less fixated on attention from my petting hands.

And some anonymous ghostwriter says this in one of my devotional books: "You speak with a thousand tongues.  Let me always hear you.  Amen."  Nature vibrates with the fingerprints, the very doctrine, of the Creator.

Me earlier looking at the scraps.  "When did we have onions?"  This lost in a whirlpool of a thousand other concerns: people, places and things.  Animal, vegetable, and mineral.  Something of a shutting of the eyes was needed, but there was kind of charismatic presentation, something to the effect that the churches should be the biggest landowners in these communities.  The onions were kind of green-brown, and there were mystery smells, which made me wondered if it was all just in my head, like someone having a headache might smell something like oranges or coffee.