I don’t mind the sun’s fierceness
in the east window, splatting me
right in the face, or the woman’s voice
amplified on the ferry 
to spur people to their cars. 
It’s fine with me
that my muscles hesitate
to lift me from the window nook
where earlier I spied two people 
mummified in thick jackets
on a rubber dinghy, 
just looking about 
while I watched them 
through binoculars. 
Wildlife abounds. 
Finally one put hands to oars,
stirred the placid water
and they disappeared. 
The deer may come again 
with her fawn to browse 
salal between madrone 
and Douglas fir, or she
may not. Now the sun
is swathed in trees. 
The window nook
grows dark. See? 
How fast it goes.
                        

with thanks to the community at Friday Harbor Labs

Students leave their wet shoes on their porches 
and at night the foxes steal one from each pair.

They take them to their dens, they line them 
with mouse fur and feathers. Wedged

into holes made larger to embrace them,
sandals and sneakers become room dividers, beds

until it’s time to update the decor, 
drop castoff furniture by trails

to startle runners who will
leave damp footwear on their steps again.