This morning I'm feeling a tad exposed. Just washed my windows, for one thing. One of my sisters is dropping in tonight, for another (but that's a small one). I'm starting to dig into my Stan Still poems and songs--that must be the main thing.
Not quite. What exposes me most is the removal of anti-rock dove netting out on my balcony. Right now--prime mid-morning over the commerce of the alley, for the rock doves--I'm here at the keyboard, when I should be out there with my prod and my traps in case "Sylvia" or "Ben" happen by.
(I should explain: I'm the one who removed the netting so I can sit out there and my sister can.)
Every five minutes or so I go out and rattle a bucket around or knock over a broom. It's just one person, but I'm doing my bit.
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2 comments:
Those poor pigeons probably have nightmares about you! You and that bucket and broom. Poor things.
Hi to Stan.
Hey, they don't HAVE nightmares, they ARE nightmares.
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