Just What Exactly?

It's 10:30, and my Heart just pulled in the driveway. I'll give myself two minutes for this post.

Never mind. Tonight the air hangs heavy, and my hands hang heavy, too, so in lieu of an opening post for the latest batch of snapshots, I give you a poem by William Carlos Williams that inexplicably came to mind. Adam Manwaring, wherever-in-the-world he is, would be pleased that I can't separate this poem from his deadpan delivery of it.

XXII

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.