Summertime

There are many things in life I don't understand: the curious brown goop in the backyard, at what stage sealing wax is prime for sealing, and the delicate silver lichen that grows on the rocks. How could something that looks so insubstantial be so strong, intricate, and crispy?  What I am sure of is that no matter the place or the time of day, somewhere there will be a patch of quite to think in. Usually there are also flowers there. 

I have collected several such places and this is one of them. The wise old rocks rising in crests from the pasture ground, the barbed wire glinting in the sun, the impression of a hand resting on the moss long after I've gone. It is a place just on the edge of something barely there, and someplace where you could sit for ages, watching, or spying things out, or noticing.

People are very strange. Mostly I enjoy watching them from afar rather than actually approaching them. Isin't it interesting to notice their peculiar habits? Really it's like observing a rare sort of bird or a wild pig! I think spying on a wild pig would be a bit more fascinating than on a person though, obviously. But, you see, wild pigs don't have social lives. They don't have scandals either, or sandals. That's what makes watching people interesting, I think. Their sandals, and also their expressions. Most people are more adept than pigs at making faces, which I am quite good at reading. Although, a pig's sideways glance can speak whole acres.