Maybe it’s because it’s been so hot and steamy here, or maybe it’s just the peculiar, random generosity of memory . . . in any case, I’ve been thinking a lot about Florida and a time when I was thirteen or fourteen years old and out on a small lake (Lake Crescent) in the early morning in a canoe; and how I put my canoe paddle down and felt, instead of water, something solid. I looked down and saw that it was the back of an alligator. How big was he? I don’t remember. What happened next? I can’t recall. I just remember the feeling of that back beneath my paddle, the surprise of it and then the terror. And after the terror, the wonder: there were miracles beneath me, beside me, above me and I was paddling through them unawares.
Speaking of which, here’s the raccoon (again) who (seemingly) lives on my roof.

Reactions: 42
Comments: 9

Original Post