Not normal, but OK, or not OK, but sweet. Back to the novel, or maybe it’s a story, or a string of stories, novelistic, or connected. Surely nothing like a poem, just a stream of sentences, going in a certain direction. Thunder muffled in the distance. Look at all the paraphernalia on the dog. The double ring harness rated for a Mastiff hooked up to 30 feet of cable screwed into the deck, the Martindale, the toxic flea collar, this babe is going nowhere, we do what we do to keep safe. Missing here is the blue necklace; if she bolts for the bunny at night, you’ll see a blinking garish light fleeing through the cedars. Missing too, the e-collar after surgery. It’s all ridiculous. And temporary. Any day now, she’ll come when called. But the thing is, she doesn’t mind, sunning herself while smaller creatures chase between my legs. Red headed pecker down at the apple tree. Tomorrow will look different, but today, this moment, a break in the clouds rolling in over mountains.