Today I looked out on the hilly cemetery surrounded by gold-tipped gate. Before it a man paused with his black terrier, the kind you see on charm bracelets. He lifted it, held it from under its front legs, and pressed the dog into a gap –just like you’d do with a tot to point out something flying or scurrying beyond the gate. The way he held it made it look like the dog had armpits. It didn’t bark or sniff, it just hung there, complacent, looking with the man. I tried to see what they saw but the only thing that stood out to me among the graves and crosses and patches of dead grass was an Easter basket full of plastic eggs. Then I realized that the black terrier was peeing, and that his owner merely wanted to watch the stream arc beyond the gate.
Today I watched a baseball field and young people with Frisbees. There was a little boy named Skylar chasing a ball, and a little girl named Summer chasing him. This time of year, the puffs blossoming on trees turn mustard yellow at sunset, right as the birds make their horniest racket. I dug my toe into dirt and I party-planned. I spend many minutes each day party-planning my evenings. I plan how I’ll roast sprouts and I plan how I’ll buy beer and I plan when to water my basil plant and whether to use my green sock for dusting or my blue one. They both have polka dots. I plan whether or not I’ll ever use the can of pumpkin puree in the pantry. We bought it in October and now it’s too late for pie. I plan what to do with the yellow guitar picks that Sam scatters in the house like he had a handful and began spinning and let them go and there they landed and there they stay, by the tissue box, snug in the couch, on the rug, by the candle, beside the toilet, where we keep old magazines. I planned to arrange them like leafs so they would look like the glowing tree the color of warmth and field dust. When I got home, though, it was already dark and the leaf clusters had turned navy, like berries.