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rejectomorph

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Unseasonable [Jan. 28th, 2018|09:17 pm]
rejectomorph
The afternoon flirted with balminess, but not quite enough to get me to open my windows. I kept the back door open for a couple of hours, though. The only problem with having a mild day is that the night now feels colder than it really is. But the frogs don't seem to mind. They began croaking at dusk, and the full chorus is still celebrating the recent rain. They'd best enjoy it while they may. The forecast remains dry for the next ten days.

My feral cats were delighted with the day, too, and spent it basking in sunny spots, when those were available (the clouds have been thin but have not yet vanished altogether.) The cats also munched on the new grass, which is flourishing. The combination of the good soaking it just got and the mild days upcoming will probably get it up to mowing height by the end of this week. I expect to be hearing power mowers around the neighborhood soon. I also expect to be smelling barbecues next weekend. It promises to be more like April than February.

Another thing that is like April is that I've got a slight spring headache, and have been sneezing a bit, which makes me suspect some plant has been encouraged by the mildness to spew some pollen. I also saw a couple of bees buzzing about the yard this afternoon. I only hope the walnut tree doesn't decide to leaf out and start blossoming too early. That the mild weather will last through the entire month is highly unlikely, and a premature blossoming would presage another small crop of nuts this fall.

One of the dogs who lives beyond my back fence must have been feeling melancholy this evening, as he let out a short, soft howl now and then. The melancholy must have been contagious, as I've been feeling it ever since. But maybe that's just another reaction to the inappropriate pollen. Maybe the dog is hypersensitive to it as well. I ought to try doing accompaniment next time I hear him howl.




Sunday Verse



A Blessing


by James Wright


Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more, they begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

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Comments:
[User Picture]From: daisydumont
2018-01-29 11:36 pm (UTC)
Lawnmowers?! Too soon!

What a lovely poem.
(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: flying_blind
2018-01-30 11:13 am (UTC)
My own grass is very close to cuttable right now. I'm sure neighbors with more vigorous lawns will be itching to get out there and mow.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)