We drove back from L.A. Wednesday and did not make it home in time to spring Luna from the kennel. I was sad about that, but then I cheered up when we opened the shutters on our picture window and I saw the sky turning pink, a large contingent of Ravens flying across the nearly full moon coming up, and the brown mountains turning gold and pink. Postcard, anyone? We can even see Joshua Tree National Park from our living room/ dining room/ kitchen/ study/ music studio window. I watched the tiny hummingbird hovering at the lavender blooms on the porch, zipping up to the Texas sage blossoms, and then moving on up to the feeder for dessert. I mean, why mess around with nectar when you can just go for pure sucrose? Our scruffy little friend fed herself (we have decided that this bird is a female) happily until the newly-arrived and somewhat more robust ruby-throated hummingbird chased it away. Again, I am pretty sure these beautiful critters are capitalists. Nicely dressed, bejeweled, and guarding their puny resources while fighting off all suspected intruders. My friend Dave A. informed me recently that Aztec warriors used to pray that they would be reincarnated as hummingbirds because "they are so feisty" Thanks for that, Dave. Tuesday we took my father to a doctor's appointment and they administered some tests. (and the tests all turned out ok) We spent a good deal of time at the USC Health Sciences Center. Now, for whatever it's worth, I know that place like the back of my hand. I know where to get water and where to get coffee, at least. In the main lobby there are three water coolers. One of them has orange slices floating in it. The other contains water with lemon slices and mint leaves. The third one contains plain ice water. We all want ice water, que no? Upstairs there is a coffee machine and on the top floor there's a candy machine. When they gave my dad a break and ordered him to eat a fatty lunch, we sat outside on the patio, and I was lucky enough to sit within earshot of this dude who was talking to someone on a Bluetooth device. Other than the bluetooth device affized to his ear, almost everything about him: a battered brown leather briefcase full of fluttering papers, greasy greying combover, and he had made the choice to buckle his belt ABOVE the protruding belly instead of below. He seemed to be experiencing various forms of fear and loathing, and Kip and I were quite entertained. I will now share some snippets of [his side of] the conversation. YEAH WELL WHEN I WENT TO THE CLINIC I GOT MY INFUSION. NO I WILL FIX IT BUT--YEAH I GOT MY INFUSION AT THE CLINIC—AND—JEEEZUSS!! WILL YOU JUST LISTEN PLEASE?? THAT BATTERY SHOULD STILL BE GOOD BUT WE CAN GET A NEW ONE AND PUT IT IN YOUR CAR ANYTIME YOU WANT. I HAVE THE TOOLS AND I CAN BRING THEM OVER WELL YOU KNOW I CAN ONLY TALK TO YOU WHEN I WALK THE DOG. I CAN'T ANSWER THE PHONE WHEN MY WIFE IS HOME. I CAN'T TALK TO YOU AT HOME. NO I CAN'T. WELL I'M GONNA GO IN AND SEE THE DOCTOR IN ABOUT AN HOUR. I CAN'T SAY WHEN THEY WILL LET ME OUT. NO I DON'T KNOW BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHEN I WILL BE FINISHED. IT DEPENDS ON WHAT THEY, YOU KNOW, DO TO ME. I'LL CALL YOU AFTER THEY DO WHATEVER. And there you have it. This afternoon we did some laundry. This entails washing the clothes in the lavadora we just purchased at the used appliance place in town. The grey water rushes out of the machine through a hose into a thirty-two gallon plastic barrel which Kip has outfitted with a brass spigot. When the wash has gone through all of its cycles, the barrel is just about full. We turn on the spigot and fill bucket after bucket and carry the buckets around watering the plants, each to each. We water all the stuff we planted and then we water the creosote bushes and yucca plants. This laundry soap is designed to biodegrade into chemicals that nourish the plants. So we are washing our clothes with plant food. The clothes, sheets, and towels dry on the clothesline in less than ten minutes. The moon came up a little fuller this evening and the sky looked as if Mark Rothko had painted it on a rainy sidewalk with lavender and seashell-pink chalk and then let it fade. Except the moon was very bright and the ravens flew by again, croaking and swishing their wings. Most of the time it is that quiet here; you can hear their wings. The ravens were not around during the summer; I suppose they came down from the higher elevations since the weather has cooled. Then again maybe they were hanging out in our neighborhood because JTNP has been closed due to the Cruz-Ryan-Boehner shutdown of our government. In any case, we are glad they're here. And, since we've noticed a couple of small falcons floating, swooping, and diving off the telephone poles down our dirt road, I will send you a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins. I have typed it faithfully as it is set in the book, so please forgive formatting shifts that may occur during flight. You know this one; you love this one, and it goes a little something like this: The Windhover I caught this morning morning's minion, king- dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing, As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird, -- the achieve of, the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion Times told lovelier, more dangerous. O my chevalier! No wonder of it: shéer plód make makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-beak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion. and another of his (for which I am writing a melody, tra-la): Heaven-Haven A nun takes the veil I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To the fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea.