The other day we went out to the scrapyard.
When your sweetheart is a blacksmith, this is a pretty common
field trip. If you’re hunting for the perfect piece of metal junk
or odd machine parts, then it becomes a wonderland.
There are giant mounds of oddments, taller than my house.

The day we went, it was bright and dusty and smelled like
engine oil and the ozone tang of storms, though the sun beat down
through cotton fluffs to us. The fellas + forklift managed to get two
enormously heavy bookbinding machines from the 1800’s into the truck.
I read my encyclopedia of serial killers, and snapped pictures of rusty things.

As we were leaving, we noticed this very fancy turkey buzzard, proudly
displaying his resplendent plumage to yon prospective mate- who feigned
disinterest on a nearby pole. He stayed like that for the longest time,
looking like an eagle on a coin- except with a head that looked like skinned meat,
and a perfume to match! I love vultures. They are majestically scrappy birds.

These gulf fritillary (Agraulis vanillae) butterflies have taken up residence in the bog.
They’ve found the dried pitchers to be ideal spots for chillaxin,
and showing off their silvery spots. For this, I forgive the caterpillars their
taste for my fuschia and passionflower vines. I watched one crysallize.
It was beyond belief. To turn from worm to horn to winged thing.
really is magic. How could I forget about that? Thanks for the reminder.

Believe it or not, I had to contort myself into a bizarre backbend, in the dying light,
carefully avoiding crushing the irises or becoming entangled in the sticky tendrils
of the sundews. I had to try, though- because they were all so chic, sipping
nepenthe dew at the Carnivore Cafe. Ooh la! Paparazzi! The trio took turns
preening and lazily flapping their wings as the sun sunk behind the projects.

You can see from the blur, that it was already really too late, but I had to capture
these venus flytrap seeds before they dispersed. Don’t they look exactly like caviar?

In our garden- everything is coming up bit by bit. Check out the crazy-thick kale stem!
Proud of what we grow, and ready for more. I want to pick it, not buy it.
Also, tomorrow evening I’ll be headed to this:

FINGERS – TENDER AND TRUE, NIMBLE AND MOBILE,
OUR HAND IS WIDE OPEN UP, WAITING FOR YOUR TOUCH ON OUR LIFE LINE.
THESE ROVING FINGERS ARE ANXIOUS TO TAKE YOU
TO THE BACK ROOM GAY VAUDEVILLE OF YESTERYEAR,
A VISION OF CAVES AND PARADISES WE HAVE IMAGINED INTO REALITY.
WE BRING YOU A NIGHT OF PERFORMANCES IN THE STRUGGLE
AND THE SPLENDOR OF QUEERTRANSFEMINIST BODIES,
A RAINBOW OF HALLUCINATED AHISTORICAL REENACTMENT.
OUR FINGERS ACT DEFTLY, SLIGHT OF HAND AND SLIGHT OF WEIGHT,
SHADOW GAMES, PALMISTRY AND CARPAL FEELINGS.
WE PRESENT A WHOLE SORDID SMORGASBORD
OF INTUITIVE MAGICAL PRACTICE:
TO YOU, FROM THESE FINGERS, A GIFT:
DIVINE EXTRAVAGANCE, SCENIC OVERLOOKING,
FARCE, FANTASY, FANCY FACADE,
CABARETS OF DECADENCE, CABINETS OF CURIOSITY,
PASTICHE, REVELRY, OASIS, MIRAGE.
You come, too.