is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery
room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue,
the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's
scrubs as they usher in unity,  with no imp-unity, the risks,
while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in
peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary
brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the
palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's
palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued
original of what has been painted an uncountable times before,
and before…

tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful,
he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early
island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill
foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities
of this summered simmering, human warming and baking
and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better
accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences
of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our
collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers,
un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish-
ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer

it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover
to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark,
the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm,
the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful
rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to
ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one
feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks,
nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized
emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture
of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated,
goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of
old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance  on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place…


7:00am
Silver Beach
Shelter Island
Aug 19 2025

During Covid by Sherman Alexie


In large numbers, the wild
rabbits arrived in our

neighborhood and have
multiplied. I see one or two

every time that I exit
our home. Once, on a walk,

my wife and I found
a baby rabbit, incompetently

hidden or abandoned
or perhaps its mother

had been taken by a serial-
killer cat—every cat

is a serial killer. There
was nothing we could do

for that baby. Animal
rescue wouldn't come

for one baby barely bigger
than a thumb and we

didn't have the time
or expertise necessary

to care for it. And, frankly,
we didn't have enough

compassion—some might
call it codependence.

There are dozens
of wild rabbits

in the neighborhood,
maybe hundreds. One

death wasn't a threat
to any population.

The next day, I walked
by the place where

we'd seen that baby.
It was gone, taken away

by something. I sighed.
I said a little prayer

for that poor thing
and then went about

the rest of my day.
But, four years later,

I still think about that
baby. It remains a part

of my life as a reminder
of the many times when

I've made cold decisions
in this cold world—

of the many times when
each of us choose

cruelty over kindness
and curse instead of bless.

Sherman Alexie