Unprepared

Pluvialis is sitting outside in her garden in tangle of sunshine and anonymous overgrowth. She is smoking her preferred Camel light out of the corner of her mouth while she makes a lure for the goshawk by stitching a rabbit pelt over a shooting dog's retrieval dummy, both of which she bought this morning on our visit to Quy Country Fair. She sews with black linen leatherwork thread, fine and powerful like a garrotte. She arranges the tail puff, as though primping the petticoats under a bridesmaid's dress.

I don't have my camera.

There is no hope for me in the Boy Scouts.