pins raze for the longest time there were two. a rabbit and a squirrel. both of them burrowed into the brim of a hat i wear to keep my head from bursting into flames. the squirrel was lost in a moment of madness. the rabbit hung on until the safety cap went missing and its tempered steel tooth tore through the cuticle of a half-numb thumb and stabbed at my scalp whenever i wanted a bit of built-in shade. a month or more after giving up the hunt, the sun caught the shabby shine of something almost too small to see: the clasp i couldn't recover, fed by a bed of basswood seeds. one wild wanderer must have brought it back to me after filching it and finding no good use for the thing. a house_sparrow. or a skunk with samaritan syndrome. impossible, i know. but this is the story i've spun to spare myself the thought of a world too weary for miracles, however faint or fast to fade the marks they make may be. 260801 what's it to you? who go blather from