This morning a cat—bright orange—pawing at the one patch of new grass in the sand-and tanbark-colored leaves.
And last night the sapphire of the raccoon's eyes in the beam of the flashlight.
He was climbing a tree beside the house, trying to get onto the porch, I think, for a wad of oatmeal
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Can there be such a thing as lush simplicity? Reading this gorgeous piece of literature, I am persuaded that there is. I keep rereading this and its loveliness doesn't fade one bit. I cannot believe how Haas could make words carry such beauty so naturally.