One morning in December, I discovered the poetry post box lying in the front bed on top of a perplexed euphorbia. The poetry box was either ripped off the post by the Neighborhood Miscreants or simply fell because the screws were too short. I'll never know. I scooped up the undamaged box and sat it in the garage where it was slowly hidden by layers of clutter. My clutter. Hidden until I took a halfhearted attempt to clean the garage over the weekend, just so I could feel that I had earned my T-bone steak dinner.
As I pushed my clutter around in the garage, I watched a familiar dog walker approach the post and touch the screw holes on the empty poetry post. I realized that she felt the absence of the poetry and might fear that the box had been stolen.
So, I shook off the box that still held one rain stained autumn poem. Oh dear. And asked My (loving) Pirate to reattach the poetry box to the post with longer screws, while I took pictures.
That looks so much better. Now, I don't have to try to dodge the complaints of the poetry lovers in our neighborhood. Because you know how they get!
I even took some pictures of the dead Rubus Lineatus leaves to possible add to the top of my next poem in the poetry box. And the T-bone steak was delicious.