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rejectomorph

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Rested [Apr. 3rd, 2016|08:40 pm]
rejectomorph
Sleep was kind last night and let me return not eight hours since I'd left its den, and then I slept until full dawn had shattered the night, sending its fragments scurrying under houses and into windowless sheds. Thus I went about my Sunday tasks refreshed, and even felt some focus in my thoughts, though nothing like the sharpness I once enjoyed. Still, it was a bit like a vacation to the past, and for a while I felt very much in harmony with lively spring. Too bad it won't last.

The lawns are growing fast, and must be mowed soon. Already there are several dandelion heads ready to burst and spread their seeds on any vagrant breeze. The mulberry tree has tiny leaves, though they are not yet thick enough to cast any significant shade. Several of the irises have bloomed, and more are ready to join them. Most enjoyable is the fine crop of rose buds ready to open. Only one rose is blooming, but there are two dozen buds I expect to see burst from their green pods over the next few days. I intend to give them some water tomorrow, to make sure they have plenty, though there is some dampness remaining in the ground from the recent rains.

When I went shopping today I saw birds everywhere. Many small brown birds were flitting about the shrubs in Safeway's parking lot, and singing constantly, and I think they must have nested in them. There were birds perched in the dogwood trees around K-mart, too, almost hidden by the profuse blossoms but making themselves known by their incessant chirping.

Now that night has fallen the air is rapidly growing chilly, but I was able to capture a lot of it in the house when it was still warm. I'm expecting it to keep the furnace off until close to midnight. I'm looking forward to the first night of the season when it remains off until dawn. Then I'll know spring is really here.

Odd, but I haven't sneezed at all today. We must be between pollen surges. It was nice.




Sunday Verse



Erat Hora


by Ezra Pound


"Thank you, whatever comes." And then she turned
And, as the ray of sun on hanging flowers
Fades when the wind hath lifted them aside,
Went swiftly from me. Nay, whatever comes
One hour was sunlit and the most high gods
May not make boast of any better thing
Than to have watched that hour as it passed.

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Comments:
[User Picture]From: zyzyly
2016-04-04 04:12 am (UTC)
who needs Sunday Verse when you write so poetically about the dawn!
(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: flying_blind
2016-04-05 03:53 am (UTC)
Thanks.

(I think I'm probably the one who needs the Sunday Verse, though.)
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