In the city, I have a garden and flowers. A combination of sprinklers and twenty-year-olds are watering them. People are having parties and I am not in attendance. There are outdoor chairs I could sit in after having taken Bruiser for a walk whilst sipping iced tea.
In the city, there are grandchildren I haven't seen for two weeks. Swimming pools. Target. A printer.
In the city there are no bats under the eaves.
In the city there is a library where I could return the novels I have already read and in turn, check out new ones.
HOWEVER: in the city, I almost certainly would not have done the work I've done here, to wit: revising sixteen poems and counting, renaming the manuscript, and getting a grip (yet again) on what it's all about. I would not have read so many books and I would not have spent as many peaceful, restorative hours in a place I love, with the historian whom I love. I would not have seen so many birds or coyotes (or bats), nor would I have logged as much river-time.
City: when I come back I will have a big howdy for you. But till then, I'll be living off the land and whupping my manuscript into shape. I trust there'll still a little bit of city-style summer fun left when I see you again.