Tornado Alley
This morning, it's quiet. But yesterday, we had a tornado or three march over Naperville and drop on the edge of town. The sirens went off and the kids went to the basement to hide. People saw a trampoline flying at about 200 feet on 157th St. Today, it's wet, but still. So far. The wet air carries the rusty voices of freight trains across town. To my great delight, mallard ducks have adopted my yard as some sort of tornado shelter, and they walk back and forth, complaining about the day. Our neighborhood turkey is big and suspicious, but he's figuring out if I say, "Turkey!" it means I have some tasty peanuts or sunflower seeds for him, and he'll slink over looking like an undertaker in his big black feather coat. He'll eat them right next to me, then look up at me and say, "Yeah--you fed me, but you can still drop dead, you jerk" and strut away without another glance. I have one week of classes left, then my blessed sabbatical. Nine months of nothing but work. Real work. My work.

Virginia Woolf said: "Whom do I tell when I tell a blank page?"

When I turn on this glowing window and tap on the keys, I know at least to whom I tell things--I tell you.


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