Bonnie and Clyde Files 7

We made our way through the mowed pasture, Bonnie to the left, Clyde to the right. They were romping. I was noticing: a wasp nest the color of a rotten lime, streaks of mold decorating a solar panel, neon buds on new Sitka spruces. All three truly remarkable gradations of green that transfixed me until an osprey dive-bombed us and broke the spell. We had the pasture all to ourselves, except for the darting barn swallows and the mowing and baling machinery parked near a grove of 100-year-old willows that looked like a portal to a better realm. It was. I’ve took it.

Monday morning, Probation Meeting Monday Blues, sung off key for sure, but with down home conviction in a windowless room. Come to think about it: maybe more a country tune, with some gospel accents. Whatever the musical genre, hearing it will break your heart, I assure you. I Get My Heart Broken Every Monday Morning—what a song title! Now that I write it, definitely country.

Gray dominated the skies while drizzle fell. It also happened to be a summer morning on the Oregon Coast, or summer mourning as the tourists might say. Bonnie and Clyde were in fine form, hitting me up for treats, coming over for pets and rubs, and sniffing the wet earth for clues.

Thank god I found this crew when I did! They restore my spirit every time we hang out on the river. They chase away the line,“I tested hot for heroin,” or the image of dog food coupons fanned across a table in the lobby of the probation office—25 coupons. No blues or country song in that image, I assure you. Perhaps punk rock.

I took a gander at the river and whipped out the blue book and pen. I tossed treats to and from and Bonnie and Clyde bounded away. I took notes. I took notes on how much this pasture and these dogs reminded me of a mowed pasture and my dogs on the wildlife refuge so many years ago.

Get back I wrote. Get back to where you once belonged.

I’m working on it.

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