The finch at the street water, the section of downhill running water with the sun hitting it, and the way our minds work, or mine anyway. Then Schuster.
4 a.m. and I am back already. Last night or this morning as it truly was, I had decided to eat a honey crisp apple, almost as useful as taking a pill. I got one out of our new fridge, took the long-bladed kitchen knife and bore down, missed my fingers, I don't always, and halved the apple. From the out side it was a beautiful apple, but inside it was rotten in the core. Oncbe i cut away the core the apple was good to eat, but I hade never seen an apple truly rotten at the core with no hint of that rottenness on the outside. I see it now as an image of the human condition; however we look on the outside, in society, there is something rotten within. I speak from my experience, unfortunately. One needs someone wielding a supernatural knife to cut it out. One needs a divine surgery, as in Christ the surgeon. One needs a radical transfiguration, as with Christ on the mountain. No amount of good work will suffice when we are rotten, little or great, at the core.
I decided to have a slice of Kraft American with my apple, one slice. No dogs were visible; I was still in the kitchen. I carefully opened the fridge door again, opened the long central meat and cheese drawer, lifted one slice of cheese from the pack and quietly closed the two doors. Having sliced the apple, I had now only to unwrap the cheese slice. I did it very slowly and very carefully, trying to avoid alerting the dogs. The wrap crinkled slightly; I looked down, and saw Schuster looking up. Whether in the bedroom or living room I am not certain, but he had heard the slight crinkle and was there at my feet. I expected Simon to show up too, but apparently Simon was too sound asleep on the sofa under his blanket. When I repeated the process before coming here tonight, both dachshunds gathered at my feet as I was sitting at the dining room table reading Guite's book. Guite's devotes the third week of Lent to Dante, so I kept reading. The book is very good. Dachshunds are good companions on the way as they teach me to share my cheese. Simon wants to sit on my lap during the day; Schuster has been sleeping with us of late. Both are very beautiful little dogs, and in their beauty and affection for us, signs of presence.
The turkey buzzards were back tonight, and Frollie and I watched them soaring over the pines across the street in front of our house. Later, a gorgeous, almost golden full moon rose over the eastern ridge, leaving me speechless.