||[Jun. 3rd, 2012|07:46 pm]
My shopping trip was delayed by a couple of hours today, and I found that the stores are considerably less busy during other people's dinner time. The only problem was that Safeway had sold out of cucumbers by the time I got there, so I had to buy one at the other store where they weren't on sale, and it cost twice as much. I guess it was worth fifty cents to escape the crowds, though. |
Somebody had a yard sale at the cul-de-sac end of my block today and yesterday, so the street was uncommonly busy. The worst traffic was yesterday morning, but there was still quite a bit today. I didn't bother to go to the yard sale myself. I've never found anything I really wanted among other people's castoffs. I once bought a couple of books at a yard sale, and then never read them. Yard sales depress me.
I just saw a pair of blue jays making out in my peach tree. I don't think the cats will prevent them from making a nest nearby. The jays routinely fly into the garage and steal cat food from the bowl I have there for Timmy. I also put a bowl of water out for her, and this afternoon it was all dirty. I'm sure the birds have been bathing in it.
The chance of rain tomorrow is now up to 80%. The clouds have been thickening for a couple of hours, and I wouldn't be surprised if a bit of rain started falling later this evening. The temperature could actually go below 40 degrees tonight, which is quite a drop from Friday's high in the 90s. This sudden change pleases me. I do love some variety in my weather.
There probably won't be more than half an inch of rain at most from this storm, but I still don't intend to water the plants this evening. The storm could turn out to be spectacular, as late spring storms here sometimes (though rarely) do. It could also turn out to be (as they somewhat more frequently do) a total dud. If the latter case prevails, then I'll just water a bit more the next day. The plants can miss a day or two of drink.
being to timelessness as it’s to time
by e. e. cummings
being to timelessness as it’s to time,
love did no more begin than love will end;
where nothing is to breathe to stroll to swim
love is the air the ocean and the land
(do lovers suffer? all divinities
proudly descending put on deathful flesh:
are lovers glad? only their smallest joy’s
a universe emerging from a wish)
love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star
—do lovers love? why then to heaven with hell.
Whatever sages say and fools, all’s well