Rabbit Wrangler Ramble

            To avoid the perpetual digestive reactions virally networking now like an avian high-rise public meta-privy, lately-or-not, I'm trying to keep my missive-mouth shut. So, as an attempt to restrain actual word-count as well, please insert the image of an unspoken-nod-of-personal-acknowledgement here instead of the usual randomly subscribed salutation — the kind of physical gesture usually reserved for when you pass someone on the sidewalk who looks familiar, but can't place their name or are unsure if it's even them at all & you wanna look back but don't & instead maybe just walk off in a strange direction afterwards because where you just were got strange & there's just so much strange out there it's pretty much not so strange anymore, thus, making it okay to just ramble on alone also not sure of who even you are these strange days, you tell yourself . . .

(Well, that already didn't go as planned — in fact, I just spelled out my own unrestrained point.

Well, I tried.

Again.

Whatever — privately embrace your mania, I say!

In fact, publish it whydontcha . . .

Okay then, let's just go all-in like a metaphorically alluded involuntary interjection punctuated with superfluous non-omission:)

            The last quarter leg of the calendar is currently sneaking upstate down in the thirties — seasonable degrees too appropriately late for anyone to plant much of anything, except by industrious poll-teasers sowing ambiguously flashy nationalized measurements by colorfully stripping down to nothing but decidedly pasty spoiler alert pies loaded with oddly familiar statistical muck lacking proven prowess I'd chart as simply animal, but we are all one — even flora has a self-driven appetite, down to the stones themselves, merely seeded in universal traits that, if not generally successful, would be classified as naturally collective flaws.

I do enjoy knowing, though, that insects also caucus.

Actually, the only poll I've been asked to participate in was from a home-craft franchise I was patronizing a few months ago that was peddling a voucher in exchange for the exchange. However, the coupon expired before I could consume it as a limited perk for my multi-choice-crafted personal opinion rating.

(Oh, predatory marketing, you twofer good-for-nothing one-&-all!)

            But, let's drift away from all of that for now & take an economically quiet breather in this projected screen space as set aside for its weightless intended use: to skedaddle from the discounted worldwide busyness & lightly makeup with liberated daydreams. The year is indefinitely taking its time closing in on divided spells that've flashed by in slo-mo so quickly it’s hard to believe they even counted. All one can do, really, is ride the last hurrah out around here as regional open-air farmers markets begin to shutter in the colder months, which (almost) finally brings me to the prompt of this post:

(The following incident occurred before shopping duties were rationally split up out of an abundance of caution to lower the communal odds of contagious supermarketing where, over the last few years, the other half of this household has been the one hitting the said outdoor farmers market instead while I've relegated myself to the well-distanced indoor adventure of fodder aisle scavenging & inoculated refreshment ferreting.)

. . . accurately restaged inappropriately here, not on-the-nose . . .

             I left my dwelling open-mindedly that morning without a shopping list. I figured I would just casually cruise the farmers enclosed in their stalled markets while dodging double-wide tot trolleys & long-leashed four-leggers corralling passersby as distracted weekend-wear custodians pecked cells or stopped to chew their likewise fat with similar caravans also blocking foot traffic under uniform sun hats  — all caught in the splendid outdoor overexposure of our various foraging que-sera-seras, myself loosely included except for one predetermined item — plucky, type-b fatalism with an offhand particular catch: chicken breast. It was on my forward-thinking menu as something to easily toss on the grill.

(Now, as you may have already read-into from both current & erstwhile posts on this site, my over-worded mind, like the vessel that contains it, also tends to wander off alone & return as if it meant to step out to pick something up, which is what happened again, as described below, while I was specifically doing just that:)