4/28/03

Aided by the analogue wave of trilling bullfrogs and the democratic
participation of all peepers, I tamp the stones into the clay dust at
the perimeter of our man made body of water.  9:15pm, I could continue
by feel and sound, but I choose to sit and listen.  The fingers feel
good, laden with the chalk of a mason's yoke.  I jested with Giuseppe
today:  "yesterday, I made money with my hands, today, I use only my
fingers".  Someday, I will use only my mind;  I will save my hands and
fingers for a process in love, only.  The night is a cool spring of
mind, no more than a flannel shirt is needed.  The stars are bright for
southern New England and the swamp is a symphony of rolling reeds and
twisting tongues.

--
To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
<http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>