Otherwise

Up to my ears in accidents & old weather, the no-news that rarely manages to be good, I begin to feel a little like one of those tablets from Moses’ first trip into the clouds — fragmented, impossible —

while overhead, the pink Sinai of a crabapple tree abuzz with every kind of hornet, bee, & model- thin ichneumon plays host to a scat- singing catbird who pauses just long enough to snatch another stingered morsel out of the air.