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Straggling Plots [May. 2nd, 2016|12:58 am]
Drove down to the laundromat around six this morning. After parking the car (a chalky, diffracted light through fog) and slinging the bag over my shoulder I heard something coming from the grille under the hood, a low twittering in the hollow of that grille. A finch wet with dew and sitting over a nest half-built woke and flew out in a hurry. She flew back a few minutes later, as though to find her bearings, where she was, the leaves and the grass again, the arbor she remembered the night before, whenever that was.