from the editor's desk

i will spend the day in the editor's chair at the paper i'm freelance reporting for. what a rush. i will be editing the entire tuesday edition, and today is where i begin lining up me duckies.

there is no apprehension about it, just joy. i'm ready for this, i've been ready for this. now i get to do it.

my editor says my work is

great

he's a creative writer too, so we are coming at this thing from the same vantage point. it's exciting.



i was walking to the bus stop yesterday to pick up my girl, and on the way back we noted a small slithering

he had been there who knows how long. it took all his might to get to the edge of the road, i'm sure,
so i bent over and picked him up. his tongue lolling to the side, his entrails slightly protruding, i knew he would not last long. but if anyone could help him, my neighbor could, she owns a snake.



alas, his wounds were fatal. and he took his last breaths in my hands. his little body struggling to breathe. i gave him a cool drink of water before he died, then set him on a rock to bask and make the transition to the next life. my daughter and i drummed and kept vigil beside him.

i imagine she thinks i'm strange, but every one, every thing deserves to not have to die alone.

and so we waited until he had left us, no more craning the broken little jaw, or writhing of his slight tail. he was still. gone cold in spite of the warmth of the rock.

and so, we watched him make the transition. and then we walked away