Casanova Cricket on a Tuesday Eve

 Man oh man, it's gettin' crowded out there. It's gotten to a point that a mountain biking feller cain't even pull to the side of the trail to... well, you know, make a little stream in the dust without another rider a comin' pedalin' along an makin' jokes an stuff. There just ain't no place for privacy anymore. I tell ya there musta been seven other riders out there just in that little space of time an' distance - seven, that's a new record for an evening. Some of them fellers were wearin' familiar faces, others were a wearin' faces covered by full-face helmets which is kinda odd since it's really mostly flat in the "out there". Certainly it ain't no place for that kinda head gear. But what ever, that's just my opinion.

"Someone's in the meadow down on lovers' lane

Making lots of racket, raising lots of Cain

Casanova Cricket, that the name you rate..."

The only place you're gonna find that solitude that used to be there is by goin' up an' over; on the other side, in the evening light there's only crickets to keep you company, an' even though the sun's still bright those crickets are already a-goin' to town, hidden by the tall grass, down in the hollow, among the shading trees.

"Casanova Cricket, it just ain't right

Sleeping all day and a-kissing all night

Casanova Cricket, what would some folks say...

Casanova Cricket, there you go again

You got yourself a ladybug, as sure as sin..."

(Charles, Carmichael, Markes)

this little Cottonwood is pretty stressed already, and it is only mid-June

bright

boulders

shadows crossing the canyon