ON MY WALK HOME TODAY
the pine needles were falling. they stuck to my woolen hat, soaked with rainwater. I watched the water pond, and nodded to a lady with her border collie, who was drinking from the gutter. I wonder if she heard me reciting fragments, aloud, to myself. Maybe she thought I was crazy, or maybe she thought that I had the answers. I could have told her that I didn’t have the answers. I could have told her that there’s soup cooking, warm in the dented pot. - William Schaefer
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