the ear

email from dd publisher to dd west managing editor in the midst of the creek battle,

"thank god it's not yours. i wasn't gonna make a peep after i got that
grisley thing in the mail. take a deep breath and breathe thru a reed like
tarzan did in that one episode.
figured it was yours and fat marty was tryin to smoke me out. next thing you
know body parts start arrivin and i'm left with "some splainin to do lucy".
i been fishing cross the lake from you....kinda quiet, slow cool jazz in the
background..a couple poles set with dead baits on...catfish ready....a pint
of kesslers to soothe the throat and cut the cigar burn. i see you come down
to the shore and look into the water, darker now since the first
frost....turning over..the shallow weeds receding and turning brown. i sense
your inward gaze and wait for you to look up an catch a glint of sunlight
off my flask. I have a place cleared off for you beside me. a rustic chair
of driftwood and rushes where we can soak in the last mild afternoons of
fall. watch ducks filter in, a heron, and a beaver...and contemplate our
waning middle age...what it means, has meant,...or if meaning is
necessary..wire brushes staccato on a muffled snare....a flugal horn gives
way to a tenor sax ...implies a melody unplayed....mellow as autumn sun
smooth guitar/wes montgomery harmonics joyously sad ...."