We've made lunch for the Eclipse. A picnic. Chicken for Peter Pan, because he doesn't care for bologna. Bologna for Silky, because she doesn't care for chicken. Bobo and Harley aren't so fussy. The vegetables are mine. 

     We'll carry it to the top of High Hill in a wicker basket, lay down a blanket, eat, and wait for the World to grow dark. 

     Priscilla and Carl are coming, with their family. Agnes with hers. The four cows will be there, too, the rabbits, squirrels and deer. Everyone. We're not chasing this afternoon. We're waiting and we're watching. Once in a great while we can do that here: Sit. For a few minutes at least.