The morning is moist,
a dinkle donk donk in the downspouts during the night. It was a warm and lovely weekend, summer-like. On Friday I worked four hours in the afternoon, most of the plant was shut down and dark, I took customer phone calls.
Our lawns are trimmed and tidy and undoubtedly the rain will help the grass to keep growing at its crazy rate.
The flag at the cemetery hangs limp. Everything screams its greenness except the deer dead at the edge of the village, just off the highway. It screams death. In the distance, the mist hangs like nature's sorrow.
It is a hang-down kind of morning, wet and casual, and I go to work because I have to.
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