I am still somewhere.
Puppy made grumbly noises around 4 so I put her out.
It was no emergency. She’s probably tired of the road work outside our window every night. I know I am.
Last night was night 3. They are still not done. I can’t even see progress, but the machines have been loud.
My next question was going to be about Puppy, so thanks for anticipating my query.
The only “road” stuff we had was a few weeks ago when they dug up the sprinkler system at the entrance to this place. They put down fist-sized stones to cover their mess and all we have now is the occasional very large truck dropping off children at the day care center across the street.
I don’t envy you, or Puppy.
I dedicate poems to them
Sounds In The NightIt's my way of getting even with them.
We hear sounds in the night of work being done,
By toilers and strugglers deprived of our sun.
It is only our comfort that compels them to hide,
As we with our loved ones and treasures abide.
In darkness they toil to repair our worn roads,
Inexorable time limits act as their goads,
They sweat and curse softly the task made so vile,
By shadow enduring the whole of the while.
Deprived of the sun for the task they perform,
In making the broken things newly conform,
To a sullen onrushing of scurrilous knaves,
Turned out of their beds as if out of their graves.
The zombies of daylight come stumbling out,
As night-working elves shrink well back from the rout,
Too soon they’ll return to assess once again,
The damages done by the legions of men.
Sisyphean tasks will await the next night,
Yet they willingly come back again to the fight,
Be blessed, oh ye workers and toilers unseen,
By the sunned-upon creatures of colorful scene.
Let children’s cries and birdsong be,
The lullaby of slumber free,
From dark concerns and matters best,
Attended to after proper rest.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . June 3, 2008
Morning, all. We went on a kayak trip. Birds, dolphins, local ecology.