An English In Kentucky


















December 30th 2010    Tim Candler

    Rain warm enough to melt snow, but before it was all gone we took to the paths for fresh air and exercise.  The Deer, gut shot by a sportsman so she was left to wander, has given her last.  Her agile spine and ribs yet to find homes.

     Dog tracks, which I hope are hungry Coyote and little Coyote, not Labrador and Beagle made fat from Alpo and barking.   Rabbit and what could be Possum.  And the foot prints of other Deer.

     Always have enjoyed the Zoroastrian tradition. The corpses of loved ones left high for vultures to chew on.  The essence of flesh to flesh made true, rather than this coy nonsense of dust to dust, and ashes to ashes.

     All the same there were hoof tracks up to the Azalea, amongst the Apple, along the Euonymus, by the Laurel, and one Deer at least had spent more than a moment gazing over the fence round the Vegetable Garden.

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