FROM MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL JUNE 2, 1999

A shine of rain upon the road.

A bright path into a grey day. The birds are quiet. The morning sound is rain coming off the roof at the corner of the dining room. It is raining still.

A branch of the honey suckle at the corner of our driveway bends to the ground with the weight of moisture on it. The pond is stippled, rough as sand paper. Water runs in the gutter along Washington Street.

An MIA/POW flag flies beneath the American flag in Fairwater's cemetery, in memory. Small towns have long memories.

Fields shine where rain has pooled. An unhappy bird sits on a power line. It is not Crow. Crow would not be so foolish as to sit in the rain, would he?

All of a quick sudden it looks like this is corn country - fields of it at every turn. Most of it is sweet corn no doubt, green and screaming in the rain.

In Ripon, Crow is sitting at a curb along East Fond du Lac Street. The rain has let up. Crow is measuring the size of change. He does not like what he has found, spits a piece of it back onto the sidewalk, turns sidewise to me, walks away. Ah, Crow.