Quarry Hollow: Rules and intimations

Three days without news of the campaign is as good as a stiff martini before dinner,
                  as a long walk in the sunshine, as a long morning in bed with your sweetie.

Remember the steep volcanic paths to the black sand beaches of the Azores, the
                  white cliffs at Duino, the treacherous limestone scraps and spalls that lead to
                  the quarry floor.

And heavy dew and many crows crying somewhere off toward the sun.

Consider why the rotted hammock causes thoughts of beauty, and the tree almost
                  killed by bagworms, and irrevocable human disasters in mansions and fifth-
                  floor walkups.

And men who have read Rilke and men who haven’t agree to tolerate a certain
                  number of shattered buildings, screams, dead and devastated children so that
                  sunny afternoons on islands may proceed undisturbed.

And the tall maple rattles its massed clusters of seedpods gently and plans, despite
                  the sparse results last time, to bomb the whole neighborhood again.