Washburne Historic District, Springfield

One of the good things about having a dog is that you don’t have to worry about him becoming a grown up and finding himself irritated with my enthusiasm for the banal and the way I repeat the same questions again and again on a single walk through the neighborhood. It seems inevitable, the impatience I feel for my extremely well-intentioned mother–tonight at the mercy of Ramona–that will someday boomerang back to me from E. It’s part of the great circle of life that The Lion King neglected to cover.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Washburne Historic District, Springfield

I fought to keep Hakuna Matata out of my head as we ventured into the pride lands of Springfield. As the great circle of life teaches us, many things both small and large go into the delicate ecology of a place. In this case there is the unicycle emerging from the dense fog that turns me into a soft-focus Ingrid Bergman; the house at the corner of 9th and C, always in holiday array, now sporting hearts in the windows; and vomit on the sidewalk dried by today’s sunshine glory, and yet I say unto you, yea, still attractive to dogs. The spunky voice of the masses in graffiti may be temporarily vanquished but it emerges again triumphant (Pioneer Parkway & E St: you suck balllz; opposite: tuna). The unlit and muddy alleys may as well be the dark edges of our own souls, where metaphorical piles of discarded cat litter huddle next to scrap lumber. It moves us all through despair and hope…till we find our place in the path unwinding tra la la.

Cat poop consumed: no; vomit yes