Okay, so I get out of a sleepy Saturday night, not much going on, the boss and wife having dinner in the corner by the window where the bands play as I wind down and clean up.  I never like to clean up, put everything away, directly, because of the protocol, what you take down, who might still need something, etc.

I have enough energy to get to the Safeway.  I'd like a good burger right about now.  Meat.  Onion.  More meat.  Goat cheese.  Frozen spinach.  Shopping while hungry...

Uber back, the apartment is hot.  I turn the conditioners on, put the groceries away, check the web, a brief inquiry into the Tour de France, an interesting stage, looks like, Macon to St. Etienne...

But it's get back to the pine trees, that's what's important for me now.  Health.  Fresh air.  Back to the grove of pines under which I do my little stretches and things...

The cicadas, they have set up their telegraph wires.  Cht,cht, cht.  Cht, cht, cht.  Notes of three.  Syncopated with response from fellow bugs in further trees, such that it's quite a phone call going on, the whole neighborhood a'gossiping.  Every now and then a two note, breaking the line, to welcome in another, and then it's back to cht, cht, cht.  Cht, cht, cht.

In a few foot steps, here underneath the tall pines, a deer puffs at me.

Canal Road is abandoned.  I go walk along, completely empty, 'til a Police SUV comes through, fast, putting up dust.

When I get back to the bluff, the owl is up in the trees too.  "Who locked, who locked, who locked the door," the owl, great, puffs with inner bagpipe, just as the frogs bassooned down in the canal reedy cattail muck, sounding as if they weigh fifty pounds, huge...

There's a deer louder, puffing more seriously, in the darkness, and I walk back to the apartment, having had my little break from urban and people...