No litter was caught among the crawfish holes in the ditch, no sticks to stumble on; it was as though someone had come before me and prepared the yard.

There’s one tree beyond the fence that produces the big pecans. For over a month there have been none in sight, but this morning, here were two on the path. One was too lightweight to be any good. Still, I put the pecans in my left fist and squeezed them against each other, expecting the rotten one would shatter. But no, the shell of the good one broke perfectly in two and the whole meat of the nut slid out, unbroken, the two halves still attached to each other, like both hemispheres of an intact brain. Effortless.(Do you know how unusual that is?) I stood still and quietly chewed it under the oak, then started warm-ups for bokotoh.

A breeze stirred, oak leaves fell and glittered in the sunlight as they floated. Birds and squirrels crossed the trajectory of my wood sword. It was good practice. A good clearing of the mind. It was a good way to begin a Monday.