Out from my vast old dictionary, this week's flying fishes:
quag--unstable marshy ground (as in quagmire)
rudd, bream--kinds of fishes
breachy--said of livestock, inclined to escape from enclosures (as in, "Those breachy llamas are out again!")
nestle-cock--the last-hatched bird or weak one of the brood, hence, a spoiled child or mother's pet
verbigerate--to repeat the same word or phrase again and again without meaning
teneral--the still-soft condition of an imago when it has only just emerged from the pupa state
imago--final, "perfect" form of an insect at the end of its metamorphosis
***
I have so little respect for philosophy. Philosophes are oafs. So when I wax philosophic I soon regret every word. I seem to be absurd. How dare I be so impatient with others' proclivity to this thoughtful activity? I call it a waste of energy and time. I blow my nose in its general direction. Yet I myself postulate that neither time nor energy can ever be wasted.
So what's the big deal?
OK, then.
***
Brilliant blue-and-gold sweet clean morning. And now here come the high white clouds in advance of the afternoon gray.
We have hay to transport. Media to mail: The Bitter Tea of General Yen (VHS), The Birthday Letters, The Elements of Journalism. Godwilling, we'll find a paycheck in the P.O. box with all the overdrafts.
The river out the windows finally gives the creek its bed back. The waters lower, but cry out as loudly as ever. It's beautiful, this rush to union--and so so destructive.
12:05:00 PM 
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