shrewd

Good evening,

Stevie Bindalow never has time to sit still. Neither does Samuel, who spends most of his time several steps behind Stevie. Biologically, they both need to eat every fifteen minutes, on average, or their metabolisms will sputter to a stop, and they will die. As a consequence, they are constantly busy finding food. Stevie is, at least. Samuel offers unwanted criticism and, when food is scarce, peculiar though it may seem to an observer, laments the misguided confusion of his friend.
Why would you choose this gully, Stevie? Everyone knows there is no food here at this time of the year. We really need to eat, Stevie, why does it seem like I'm the only one paying attention to our food situation? I'm so sick of this.
I'm sorry, Samuel. I should have known this place had nothing. Oh look, there we go, there are some tasty grubs right there under those leaves, friend. Let's eat.
I've heard that Horace once asked Stevie why he tolerated such a leech. Stevie ignored him. Although their lives may seem hectic, their general quickness slows down time enough that, mostly, they feel relaxed. And, there's enough food to go around. What would Stevie do without Samuel? He doesn't take the time to think about it.

Good night,
walter

desert

Happy new year,

While in the desert, at approximately 00:03 January 1, 2011, I was almost eaten by a coyote. Or, standing on the other foot, I was suddenly and fleetingly connected to the protective presence of a majestic creature.

In my dream, I am a coyote now, passing unseen through the harsh nocturnal landscape. I am alone for the moment. The creosote scent of the rain-touched bushes hangs above the coarse sand, and through this gauzy cloud I follow the distinct scent I have been tracking. I am a patient, tireless hunter. I yip and bark at the moon because I can.

until next,
walter