After the rain, I took my fishing pole over to the large pothole around the corner and stood in the street and sank my line. Someone yelled, they biting? The next person honked. It’s a sport of the mind, puddle fishing, somehow lends one to think cosmically. The puddle as space and the pole as time. Or maybe entropy, which could be time? The uneven sidewalk between my house and my neighbor’s, because of a large tree, pools rainwater, especially in spring. The birds, mostly robins, drop down to drink of it and the kids like to jump in it and dog walkers get annoyed with it, but it’s a token of wild. I plan on purchasing a quality umbrella. I’d like to get rid of my refrigerator too and do without one. I bought a notebook and pen, but I’m refusing to start a journal. What could I say about my days? They rattle, they think like dropped plates? Actually my days are all right, I read a lot, go on long walks on the weekends. And I should probably start a journal. And begin with an entry like: If the laws of physics are the same going in reverse in time as going forward in time, as the physicists say, and if there is a loving god, would god love us both going forward and backward in time? And would the leaves, tiring of green, after the yellow autumnal search, turn astronaut and climb up the cosmic tree?