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OH, DEAR READER, I'M HOPING THAT you haven't met the Bursa. In fact, it'd be fine if you've never even heard of them. It's my wish that right now you are scratching your head and twisting your mouth into a funny side-pucker, guessing it might be a tribal group from Bhutan, or a type of monkey that roams the Burmese mountains (cousins of the Rhesus, perhaps). You'd be ever so incorrect, of course, and it would relieve me to know you're not as intimately acquainted with them as I happen to be at the moment!

I would have been pleased to meet them, say howdy-do, and suggest that you do so as well, Reader Dear, were it not for the fact that one or two just introduced themselves to me by throwing a cantankerous fit! These ordinarily quite well-behaved little mediators are simply enraged! Red, angry, screaming! Acting in a vile manner--not letting me sleep, urging me to moan and groan and tell my yard man this is the worst pain I've had since childbirth, and there's just no way I can lift a finger (or even an arm--my right one, to be exact) to do any of the usual and customary things I'm doing while he's industriously caring for the yard (or not).




This morning I was awakened by the sound of a gentle rain--ah, so soothing.
But tonight there is nothing that can soothe me, not even
the little orange pills I've been throwing at the Bursa by
the handful !





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