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Friday
Apr062012

Every, every minute.

Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? — every, every minute.
Thornton Wilder, Our Town

12:34am. Last night as I was falling asleep I was visited by my Uncle John. A brief visit. He smiled, standing arms akimbo, and I suddenly realized I won't ever see him again and then he was gone and I was left to dream nightmares of wild storms and patios and a grand hotel where we sought refuge when the sky turned dark.

8:15am. Sounds: the coffee grinder, a cardinal (is it Big Bob? the one who perches among the bamboo in winter?) singing high up in a tree, a train horn in the distance, the trickle of the creek, the wind in the trees.

1:23pm. "The country has become gripped with a terrible disease that is called lotto fever! A doctor is so expensive, and so I have found the cheapest remedy: instead of going to the drugstore, I buy a lotto ticket! One dollar and I am cured!" "Did you win?" "No, but I got two numbers!" "Sounds pretty lucky if you ask me."

5:14pm. Grandpa came to see the wildflowers. He poked at the ground cover with his walking stick, uncovering trout lilies and toothwort and the little fiddlehead buds of ferns poking out of the ground. He spotted dwarf blue phlox on the other side of the creek through his camera, steadied on the railing of the deck. We discovered a tree that appeared to be dying; the only one yet to bud, its bark brittle and dry. I pointed out the sessile trillium growing in the picnic patch. "It's amazing; just when we think everything has come and gone, that spring is over and summer about to begin, there's something new that comes again and it's just so beautiful."

8:57pm. Check Twitter. Check Draw Something. Check Tumblr. Check Twitter. Check Gmail. Check Facebook. Check Instagram. Check my reflection in the bathroom mirror to make sure I'm still here. Check Twitter. Check Twitter. Check Twitter.

9:41pm. The window was cracked and the grass had just been cut and the smell of onion grass crept in as I drove past the old Shady Nook and in the rear view mirror there was lightning.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.

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