Count the headlights on the highway

By Bill Pearse on March 22, 2020

Now oddly it’s the reusable bags they look upon with distrust at the grocery store. It’s the first time I shopped wearing latex gloves, but it felt like I was being sensible. I turned them inside out and left them in the car where after three days you don’t have to worry about it they said. We gardened all day. I picked dead leaves out of the garden beds and pruned sword ferns, gathering the fronds and tossing them into a pit 12 feet by 10, where a large cottonwood trunk dried out and created a massive hole. We decided to fill it with yard waste and it filled up fast, despite the size. I got cans of beans and more coffee at the store. I’ve built up a pantry in the garage I can stand back and smile at now. Everyone was out today piddling in their yards or taking walks. I drove into town to deposit a check around 8, Sunday morning, light fog and no one around. A sickly sun and a moment I could drift off to music and coffee and meander down the road not thinking about anything. Lily and I camped for a night in the desert steppe of eastern Washington, down Canyon Road. She put on Elton John and we sang Tiny Dancer, “count the headlights on the highway…!”