Incidental Thoughts at Midday
It’s Monday and the noon fire-whistle blows. For whom? Not for me. Or not just for me and these collies walking around in the woods together. It’s for everybody, I guess, or anybody who has the ears to hear. How many do? I dunno. Isn’t everybody at work? What am I doing? The old graveyard, nobody tends it anymore. It’s right next to the firehouse. Anybody maundering there would surely hear it, wouldn’t they? “Dead Man’s Ear” is the name of a mushroom.
