Tuesday, February 12, 2019

A stout medium size bird sits on the flimsy branch of the tree outside my window.  The sky is grey, the bottle brush tree is green with red flowers.  The bird is pale grey.  I look closer, surely it has some color.  It is a ghost bird, sitting and watching on the limb. 

Again, the bathroom sink is slow to drain.  I pull out the sharp thin orange flexible stick to shove down the pipe and pull up the clotted hair.  I delay for days hoping it will clear itself.  It is my hair and my sink.  This morning I do it.  Ugh such a disgusting task.

I am so tired of being cold. I am in the middle of several books and still I picked up another by Maxine Kumin, ALWAYS BEGINNING, a collection of essays about being a poet.

Drove to Salinas with my recovering friend in my car for her doctor’s appointment.  Traffic was light.  Hills brilliant green.  On the side of the road yellow mustard bushes were blooming.  Cows on the hillside, mothers and young ones.  Sat in the car while she went for her appointment.