Strawberry Moon

The moons, they slide by, these moonths. This one we saw coming and going, on two consecutive night walks—bright French vanilla on night one, then homestyle vanilla tonight. The coyotes lapped it up.

The present is a kind of landmine field, as we tread lightly and wait for developments. We’ve become more and more careful not to step on others (the larger ants, crickets of any size). The questions are all the ones you know, if you’re alive in 2026 America with one or two working antennas.

Tonight we came across a kangaroo rat, which jumped back and forth across the path a couple of times. We lowered our flashlights, keeping the edge of the light just so that we could see each other. I won’t be glib and say I have a spirit rodent, but it always raises my spirits to encounter one of these bouncy, curious creatures that seem to look at you like a rabbit might. We cross paths with rabbits every night walk. Each is a staring contest until one of us moves. Whoever’s first, we whisk by and let out a quiet-voiced, “Hi bun. Goodnight bun. We’ll see you again tomorrow.” We don’t see kangaroo rats often enough to have a greeting ready.

A small brood of poems came to me in recent weeks, several since our brief trip to the San Juan Mountains. I added three of them to Nearvous today. “I did what I could with the things I had to do” sounds so ominous. In the present tense: I do what I can with the things that visit me. In truth, I love these poems, but I don’t know whether they’ll translate. I hope so. I will not kill these darlings. They deserve to live.

I’ll keep this brief since I’ve said so much elsewhere. Goodnight, gentle reader. Thanks for listening.