Oh man, threw it too far.
No Labrador—with or without a flying disc in its jaws—lumbered out of the tall weeds, so Felix sighed and dove in.
“Albie! Where are you?”
Difficult to wade through, the weeds pressed against Felix as if wanting him to leave. Finally, the jingle of Albie’s tags, and then Albie sniffing crazy at something in the ground. Felix leaned down to look closer at the black metal peeking out the thick greenery.
A red light popped on and whirring began.
“It’s still nice, though,” Kate says. “So much to see. Like a Grandma Moses painting. Every time you look at it, you see something new.”
She would have to go familial. Grandma means children, grandchildren. Bill imagines them running around the booths of chattering eaters. Outside, on the painting’s street, is a flurry of activity: townsfolk, dogs, horses doing a thousand various things. Somehow, it’s now a small town out there, and everyone knows everyone, each day a predictable routine.
He frowns. “It’s just so cluttered.”
Passersby were startled as the skinny, wavering, old-looking man suddenly halted and dropped to his knees, his torn pants on the sidewalk across from the wavy building. His face—ravaged by sun and wind—slacked in awe, as if seeing a whale leap, and his gray beard parted to allow words out: “Thirty-four years on the seas. Island to island. Port to port. Forever in between. Now this. The curves like waves. The sun dances on the windows like on the quivering, never-ending water.”
A pause as the crowd stared.
“This,” the kneeling man said, “this is now home.”
A lawn littered with dandelions
like bright dots on a map of grass
denoting some remarkable places,
into an intricate geodesic dome
waiting for a breeze
or child’s blowing
so seeds can take to the air
and float to other
parts of the grass map
and mark another remarkable
Driving to my parents’ house
on a Sunday morning,
a splatter of raindrops
on the windshield,
but lighter clouds
a bit away suggest the sun.
A bird with a long twig in its beak
flies over the highway,
off to add to its family’s nest.
Then, off the highway,
driving in miles
of stores and restaurants,
I see a Canada goose couple
on a date as they
peck at grass in a narrow
strip next to the road.
Also a big burgundy Cadillac
sits in the parking lot at Hooters.
Are they even open
at nine thirty
in the morning?