When the elderberries bend down and the carolina wren is calling, the moon hides in the blue of the sky.
Morning and afternoon we harvest Dolgo crabs and pick up american plums before mowing. Later we snack on zucchini, tomatoes, cucumber and peppers.
The black walnuts are starting to fall.
The CD player has stopped working. So while cooking supper and cleaning we listen to old cassette tapes. I’ve had the album The Immortal Mississippi John Hurt for 25 years.
We swim everyday. The children insist upon it. In the afternoons a 5-10 mph breeze kicks up and the water is clear. Cold spots well to the surface.
We float in the center of the pond and watch a king-bird work the insects off the top of the water. The sun starts to set and a green heron circles. He sets up in a snag and waits for us to clear off for the night.
In the evening we watch It Happened One Night with Clark Gable.
And given two and a half days, the weight of the object that bends us
to quiet desperation seems lighter.
As Mississippi John Hurt sings, “this is the hammer that killed John Henry, but it won’t kill me.”