[even when

the moon fills out…]

we walk every possible day after breakfast to the woods, thirty minutes up the creek,

twenty lying with dogs in the dirt

and take twenty to walk back                                                                                           [“Atlas”; 1988]

before any serious binins begins around here.

Friday, not quite comprehending the concept of “taking the afternoon off” for bocce and barbecue, we showed up late for the dregs of Leon’s party

and then, after a stormy night lost in a cloud,

were nearly asphyxiated when the one of Libre’s ubiquitous Subarus turned the pristine morning into a bad Kathmandu bus day.  The forest’s watery pogonip compensated…

followed by, aha, high summer at the Farmer’s market in Gardner

where the County was doing its own personal best to turn the morning into a bad Kathmandu bus day opposite the Post Office;

It’s always somethin’…

Saturday was another of those six-person evenings of food, friendship and conversation [not shown]. The next day evinced a first hint of fall up the creek following days of ‘fall in the air’

and our annual “running of the Trig” was postponed due to a missing battery strap as anyone with a 1947 – 53 Chevy will understand..

[ah, simplicity…]

Congratulations may be in order for Aggie, the Nervous Dog, who after eight years is this summer tentatively finding [or being found by] a friend in Hanna [banana], rescued from the mean streets of Gardner last year by our neighbor Charles  We observe the courtship with hopeful amusement;

But then are away early  Monday to Pueblo for errands and that appointment at Pueblo Toyota, which of course takes an hour longer than predicted, but at least the ratshit’s gone from the AC, the two [two?] flats are fixed and it looks like the newer Tacomas’ video game consoles might be readable in daylight.  Maybe…

We finish up in the Bessemer District with the best pork and avocado burritos ever,

make a last pass by Gagliano’s on the way out

…and don’t discover my credit card’s still at Jorge’s and the low tire light means one of those allegedly fixed flats is going flat until Colorado City, so back to Toyota where the “Technician” [give me a fucking break!] swears his repair’s not leaking [even though it sank from twenty to no pounds just driving up from the south end of town] until Service finally allows that maybe it is…which it was, so two hours after we left we’re back in Colo City for the gas to get us home…

and the tire light doesn’t come back on until we leave the pavement shortly after MM 18.

Tuesday, too burnt out to do shelves in the ‘burg but with, at last, a battery strap, we can at least fire up Trigger,

who fires up fine, but won’t run without a little carburetor cleaning this year, which kinda makes us think…

that maybe ol’ Trig needs a third owner rather than slowly sinking into the grasses…

[last year he ran in place, two years ago we drove him a bit but the lack of brakes nearly put us backwards into the arroyo; the insults of age]

…possibly?

M