This Moment: 9:06 A.M. June 5, 2012

The train passing through town sounds like fierce white water breaking over rocks. Birds are talking over each other, voices racheting up and up in a kind of layered synthesized composition. Both dog's are just inside the bedroom door rather than on the deck with me, the small dog's head resting on the threshold. A dove sounds the first mournful dirge of the morning. Tonight and tomorrow, Venus will transit the sun, signaling the continued emergence of women out of the deftly woven cloth of patriarchy. If only a planet's movements were actually able to affect human behavior for the betterment of all. Wild roses have grown around the trunk and branches of the Aspen trees and their burgundy blossom compliment the glut of green the season offers. A plane passes overhead and mixes with the unceasing stream of cars in what reminds me of television static when the channel goes off air. I am still thinking of the children begging for dollars on the streets a world a way. What will become of them? The geraniums in pots on my deck are a bright fuchsia, a pink that has drawn a bumble bee the size of my thumb. The bee turns away in disinterest and the small dog nips at the air, feigning a threat. It is 10:34, a muggy evening in Thailand at this moment. I am aware of this because my brother is there. My world expands and contracts with the movements of my family. The small dog is stretched out, asleep next to me. He is tired and still muddy from our morning walk. The dog remained behind this morning. Her eyes accused betrayal as we left. Yesterday, she wandered away and I found her turning circles in confusion. She is old. She no longer hears and her eyes are bleary with cataracts. It is only a matter of time. The air conditioner hums loudly, a lawn mower roars nearby, cars stream like flapping ribbons. Leaves rustle in the breeze, a gentle counterpoint to the increasing cacophonous tenor of the morning.