IS THAT YOU, NORMA JEAN?

The rain against the shingles sounds like a banked fire, muttering continuously.  One day I will get tired of it, but not today.  I haven’t showered in 5 days.  I add another containment layer of clothing, and a scruffy beard.

At Purisima Creek the banana slugs are on walkabout. Francine says, “Ewwww, I almost stepped on one.”  Moss, ferns, leaves, everything dripping and everything green, except these squash-yellow slimers.  They have no need of camouflage. Ewwww, the birds say.  I almost bit into one.

Of yellow and camouflage: Dominic sends a photo of a triad of flowers, in sepia, glistening with a silken elegance.  He asks if I can identify them.  They look so familiar but I can’t say for sure, so I email back to ask what color they are.  Yellow, he responds.  Could they be…oxalis?  My nemesis?

Mold, oxalis, slugs.  Hail the conquerors.

 

 

 

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