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Appointment
Precisely at 11:20 every night, something on four legs visits my garden, and scrunches down in the leaves under the lemon tree. What signature is he leaving, and for whom? I imagine possum, cat, the neighbor's rabbit, or Fred, the dachshund, who is never leashed. Not to know is more of a gift than knowing. I ignore the flashlight by my bed and greet the darkness with a soft hello. Let the moon rise in its own time. Let mystery be prompt and without menace.