[Name Removed] says the rain is more internalized in less rural settings. I
don’t wonder much. Tufts of suede drip from last night’s coat pockets. Hay
bales in January are not so fresh. A yellow film covers the Oakland Hills.
Where am I? Perhaps I dozed off. Ah, here we are: “Carrots in the ground
and more leaves fallen. The sun in my cocktail. One bird’s always louder
than the others.”
