on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
- Fog by Carl Sandburg
(That's for you, my precious cat, though you're napping as I type this.)
she swam only at night on the spring tides in the silk light of water slipping her over the mud flats when they studied why she did it…
They are fleeting. They are fragile. They require little water. They'll surprise you. They'll remind you that they aren't and they are you. -…
It is only April. I can't stop my own life from hurrying by. The moon, already pacing. - selected lines from In Your Absence by Judith Harris…