Monday, October 26th, 2020

The landlord’s woodworking projects cluster together in the backyard. I can’t tell how many there are. A dismantled coffee table rests on the ground, with additional boards underneath the top. The body of a skateboard sits on a metal table, its wheels removed. What looks like a bird feeder camps in a corner where cats sleep in the winter. Its pointed roof, about a foot above the base, covers a flat tray with low walls. Any of these objects could turn into something else. I hadn’t expected the elements of the bird feeder to take the form that they have now. In the front yard, as I pass, the landlord is buffing a fresh coat of bright orange paint on a child’s bicycle frame. On the way to work, I stop at the shop to pick up a package. I find that there are two. Both are books, from the same vendor. The smaller package is in a plastic wrapper. In Hebrew and English, the postal service apologizes profusely for having damaged it. I open it carefully. The book is fine. The bookstore knows how to pack them to survive shipping. I’m tempted to sit on a bench and read the books, but that would mean deciding which to read first. I really should get to work. Another package comes for me at the office: the new audio interface for my computer at home. It’s supposed to be new. The box is open, with a label torn off of it. The contents appear to be intact. I blame it on customs inspectors, or whoever guards the country against hazardous hardware. I keep glancing at all of the packages while at work and eagerly carry them home. In the backyard, when I get there, the birdhouse is on the metal table, next to the skateboard. A cat is sleeping in it. I juggle my packages as I dig for my keys. Once inside, I’ll figure out what to do next.