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Slice of life

I was just down taking the trash to the dumpster, and I saw a head-of-household clad in shorts and one of those sleeveless undershirts and a small clan or clan and extended family and friends of children. I couldn't follow the discussion, but it looked as if he were directing them in the loading of at least three large (kitchen-sized or larger) trash bags full of beer cans into the back of a truck.

I've mentioned the lady downstairs-and-over? She is elderly, eccentric, has a Very Large (and surprisingly well-behaved) Dog, and is the one who would like to at least get the neighborhood stray kittens decatted. She's been experimenting with lawn furniture (on the inside of the apartment complex, there are no lawns, just gravel, but the term "lawn furniture" still applies if it's on gravel) lately.

There is a tree out front of her patch of "lawn" -- it's not much of a tree, actually, just yet. It's held up by wires between two sturdy stakes the size of hefty broomsticks or the average garden hoe handle. This is not new. The black curly wig draped over one of the wires is new, however. There are some safety pins or paper clips (I didn't get close enough to take a very good look, given that I was just passing by) dangling from the mesh lining of the wig.

I might have caught sight of the Little Fayoumis's former playmates Tommy and Angelica (no, not their actual names, yes, nicknamed for the Rugrats characters) in the group of five to ten kids. I thought they'd moved long ago.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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