I leave the hospital to go sit in the park for lunch and see, walking under the scaffolding along the curb beside the parked cars, a cat. She holds, in her mouth, the body of a mouse, and after giving me only the briefest of looks, she speeds along to other destinations known only to her.
Later, I sit on a bench beside a lawn in a plaza at the top of a hill beneath a sky that looks like it came from a Japanese animation: pure blue, thick clouds that would probably taste like soft mounds of whipped cream if you ate them, a benevolent sun that seems incapable of the killing heat he inflicted on us only a few days ago. A female Eastern Tiger Swallowtail flaps lazily over the grass, and I watch her black wings with mild interest until she’s out of sight, then go back to my book.
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