Pudgy Indian

I sit in my truck, door open, listening to Isabelle Allenede on Democracy Now. As I look out into the world...is that a hair in my face? I pull my head back slowly and attempt to focus until I see a tiny spider starting to build a home in the upper corner of my trucks doorway. I interrupt the little spider knowing its home will only be destroyed and the tiny creature will most likely die. It rests on the fingernail of the middle finger of my left hand and it is Beautiful. I take it to the bare bushes and it eventually drops. The spider will have better chances there. I come back and write this story amongst the asphalt, radio, and random brown leaves of oaks and maples. Welcome to my country Isabelle and spider.