This morning, after the three of them leave to drop one of them off at the train station to go into town for school, just what I’ve been waiting for, feigning sleep upstairs, I go down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. On the way, a pretty black and brown moth huddled on the stairs, down in the corner where they turn going downstairs.

Acting invisible.

Wrong color for hiding on the stairs.

I pass the moth, careful not to step on him. I drink my coffee. I step over him again on the way back up. When the other two get back, I mention it to the little one. “Yeah, I saw it this morning. Is it alive or dead?” she looks. “Ah, it’s turned around. It’s alive.”

I go to the cellar to get a screw driver to perform some morning task, taking down curtains or something, to be washed. I let a cat out of the cellar, where it’s apparently trapped itself. I take down curtains and drink more coffee.

Going back upstairs to get dressed, I notice the moth is gone. I notice the cat is licking its lips.

Just now, walking down a tree-lined street of mansions on my way to the store for some honey-roasted peanuts for lunch, I thought I heard my first bird ever really saying “tweet”. Listening more closely, I realized it was actually saying, “tveet.”

“You grogoch,” she says to her little sister.

On a rainy, foggy day the little one looks out the window. “Oooh, the Grey Man.”

A friend gave us a book about Irish fairies, and suddenly Austria is aswarm with them.

May peace prevail.

Bob Hope, Idi Amin and now Leni Riefenstahl: hopefully, this tragic series (deaths of people you weren’t sure were alive or not) has reached an end. We reprint here a

tribute to Idi Leni Riefenstahl.

That’s what you get when you babelize the phrase, “are those eels in your hovercraft or are you just happy to see me?”