Fifty-two degrees northern Iowa,
Five forty-nine p.m.
Cold afternoon,
Puts me in mind of June ninety-five,
Black Hills Mount Rushmore Keystone S.D.,
Rained every afternoon,
New employee building seasonals and fulltimers who lived on the mountain,
Mount Rushmore is a year round concession,
No fun all that month,
Days off get sick wandering around or sleep write letters home,
Sunday night on a rerun NCIS I had not seen,
Stopped watching when they list the hot Jew Ziva David,
Being Jewish and Gay me not her I lived the character,
Mark was talking to a young boy,
The boy had remarked about all the letters Mark and he wrote back and forth,
Mark had remarked true words,
‘Letter writings a dying art!’
So true!
Bronchitis hard to heal,
Like drowning inside,
Cold and damp,
One day nearly two weeks ago ninety-seven then fall cold and damp once more,
So kitten and my cat girls and I will spend evening inside my little room with the heater,
Val's Whitewolf Books 