Saturday, June 14, 2025, 49.8* 0537
In the dark of the kitchen I pushed the button, quickly I pressed it again, stopping the beginning, the warming, the dripping until I could find a coffee cup. At 4:48 Soleil should have been rising. Perhaps the soft rain let her sleep. As if afraid to wake her, seven spoke softly. Even the crow used one of his quiet voices.
Large black ants made their way over mountains of gravel, valleys of sand to swarm over the end of the house seeking a way in. Some went under the corner post, others found a breach in the sill where the wood shrank or two pieces never quite met. Pressure treated wood is no defense ants tunnel through it to make their nests.
The pond has crept away from the edges, giving up ground, redrawing boundaries gained with snow melt and days of rain. Now there are islands.
I cannot see the sun but there is light.
Art: LJ Austin
