with my toe I nudge a carpenter bee, black, on its back and not moving Jose the neighbor passed recently and his jungle is dying too, its large shadow still lush, but limp my dog Gracie and I hug it, before we turn right onto a short street with more superb shade the next two lefts are hard on Gracie the brightness on her cataracts so bad she bucks and stumbles till we cross back over to Jose’s shade for the straight dark shot home Jose’s partner said he stopped water

try to imagine, all the white-celled nurses and clotting doctors that rush to a wound, arriving on a subway of blood equipment in tow to restrict blood flow, inject platelets, spread a liquid that scabs, lay down a collagen mesh, knit new skin we’d be in big trouble if they went on strike over low wages, poor working conditions or overtime – hell, they’re on call 24/7! today though, they couldn’t help my big toe to those Lilliputians, it would have appeared like an ov

I’ve noticed no one is winding the pendulum of life this turning world never stops they say we created time – was it to measure the sun moving and the moon rising or that we sleep at night and work the day? all I know is, as the landscape I travel shrinks the days pass dizzyingly fast that’s one reason I write - to hold onto that pendulum usually, a swingingly fun ride that throws me off way too soon