Pond Water Soaked Irish Setter

I live outside, its nice. Or if you want to visit me, drop a line. As in, fishing. But you don't have to. Visit, that is. I am outside, so its like I'm right there. Pretty much on your block. Or, if you would rather; in your neighborhood park. Wherever.  Best to know, though, right? What do you do all day long? I feel around for the urgencies left in the dirt. I write things down with pencils that I've taken. I heel myself, like an Irish Setter.  I pour pond water.

Whenever you want to try out talking, I'm game. We could do it through the garden hedge? Good idea. I know the one you're probably thinking of. I cut the hole in the garden hedge. When I stuck my hand through it became cool in the hedge's shadows.  I did a lot of writing with my cool hand. I would have written this with that, and taken a long time to make each letter if there had been enough pencils. Four of them were broken under cliffs, because the cliff walls were hard to write against. The other five or six stuck together and then splintered.  That would have been last week.

How is it that houses are proud-looking? Can they be proud of themselves? Can I try? I live outside and see a lot of houses. The best part is staying for when the lights come, one by one, on inside.  My footprints get darker and stormier.  I stand there until every light is either on or off for the night.  I put the harsh lights from the bathroom behind my teeth and brush them that way.  I use neither brush nor paste.  The light is enough, it is bleaching.  I keep a nightlight on in my femur so I don't trip on my way to bed.  It is silent until the switches snap off or on. Then the whole street is a flushing toilet.  A trip for water in the night.

At noon I am eating. Leave me alone!