Missing

The storm vanished and left behind another splendid spring day, but I didn't get outside much. My stiff joints are really going to miss that walk I didn't take this evening.


No matter how carefully I listen, I can't hear a single cricket chirping now. I wonder if they all drowned in the rain?


Half an hour ago there was something larger I was intending to say but it's gone and left only these fragments. I'm so absent minded anymore.


I can't say I'm terribly upset about Kurt Vonnegut, but I really miss the hell out of Kilgore Trout.


That's all, I guess. The day's remains are vanishing and there's nothing I can do about it. So that last line goes here.