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Six Caws
I love the magic of the mornings at this time of year. Driving to work in the damp dark, lights like paint strokes across the black asphalt, twisting devils of leaves writhing in the headlights, passing the sleepy pockets of light that I know are houses hidden in the hollows, where coffee is dripping into a clear, clean pot and the news is buzzing on some device in the background while stiff spines try to loosen and heavy eyelids attempt their lifts. How many secrets, how many stories I pass as I glide past in the dark, in the morning, in the stillness of November. And then arriving at my…
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The Finest Fine Morning
The kitchen’s lamplight was slanting down through the blinds from the breakfast nook window when I stepped out to check the cat food situation. Our old barn cat hadn’t eaten quite all his food from the night before. When I started to dump a cup of the pebble-like chow into the bowl, I stopped and look a second look. Two daddy longlegs (harvestmen) were crouched in the sloping slick surface, their bodies almost the size and color of the cat food, touching the remnants, feeding on the battered tabby’s table crumbs. I left them undisturbed and instead placed a small mound of food on the window ledge next to them.…