Tree tracers assemble. Arborists encircle the yard of the Pocono home: log walls with roof made of mercury umber shingles. Pergola skeleton. Queued humps of clay: road bumps to dissuade hasty drivers from running over children playing in the neighborhood. Spruce & 8th has such bulges in street pavement. I cannot wear jeans without ass-pockets. Maybe green khakis or even brown pants, but never denim. Burle has them for practicality. Once let Bill borrow his flashlight and found himself stuck in the black of a 50-foot Stygian tunnel under a Church. *Spectacle in center demands the first glance. Peremptory request to be the pivot of the swivel. But first I saw the sky. Lack of clouds birds smog sun planes h.a.b’s blimps passing aerial things. Intentional inattention to Mohawk meditation with an instrument of wings. Scene reminds me of Log. Flip the hammer, hit the nail. Just after hookah and some aderol. Arbor: an axle or spindle on which something revolves. Device holding a tool. Shape with a lathe. Harbor of jetties.