The city mover beat me to the chicory this evening maybe if I had passed by earlier I could have caught a glimpse of them but they will rise Phoenix like from the close cropped pile of grass and weed and present their brash and uneven beauty once again before the need for carpet and trimming loops of magic made by subterranean rug weavers is once again mandated and duly executed by the city crew in the burnt orange cabs of their ride along mowers browning the backs of their hands and letting the heat weather beat their faces to match the cabs and fulfill some unspoken contract between landscaping and maintenance and the gods of Chance Fortune as ever favouring the bold there will be other routs of the mover before the Summer is done and more rain hopefully if I can contain the fear of thunderheads building and more returns of visible biodiversity Nature never surrenders unconditionally but like a lover choosing her battl...

Last night I saw a cat looking at the front door.  She was waiting to go back out into the heat and humidity that is too much for dogs.  Cats are real survivors.  I wondered whether the cat imagined the door opened itself and as she sat hopefully watching the door fully expected the door to open by itself.  At that moment I opened the door to let her out, and it occurred to me that it didn't matter to her how the door was opened--or even when--just so long as it opened enough for her to run out.  I don't know whether she knew if I saw her watching the door I would open it for her from the inside (and was therefore asking me for my assistance and preparing herself for my response), or whether she was waiting for Christie to come home from work and open the door from the outside.  But I did open the door, or Christie soon would have, arriving on cat's feet.  And the cat did go out, whether she led you to the door or was oblivious to your presence and con...