|[Jul. 13th, 2008|08:39 pm]
I'm semi-caught-up with reading LJ, though haven't replied yet to the accumulated comments (but thanks to everyone for your concern.) Getting all the stuff we moved out back into its place eats time, but we need most of these things to be in their accustomed spots where they can be found when needed. I considered leaving much of it packed, just in case, but closer thought made me realize this was impractical. I'll just have to hope we don't get another situation demanding evacuation.
I haven't seen the feral cats, but they've been eating the food and drinking the water. I did see what I'm pretty sure was a young possum (the first possum I've ever seen around here.) My guess is that evacuees took away most of their dogs and cats, making it possible for the possum to explore areas it formerly avoided. The little guy got a drink from the cat bowl, but didn't climb onto the chair the food bowl is on. Then it wandered off. I hope it stays safe now that all the domestic animals will be coming back.
Also, in Chico the other day I saw the most interesting lepidoptera. It was small and gray, the color and shape of a leaf turned to ash, which is what I thought it was when it first landed on a vine's tendril near my foot. Then it began rubbing its folded wings together and I realized it was some sort of tiny butterfly or moth. It had a shiny head, too, of iridescent red and green, I think. It flew up and fluttered away before I could get a closer look. I've never seen one like it before.
Sunday Verse, randomly cut and pasted from greatpoets due to lack of time....
Afternoon in the House
by Jane Kenyon
It’s quiet here. The cats
in a favored place.
the geranium leans this way
to see if I’m writing about her:
head all petals, brown
stalks, and those green fans.
So you see,
I am writing about you.
I turn on the radio. Wrong.
Let’s not have any noise
in this room, except
the sound of a voice reading a poem.
The cats request
The Meadow Mouse, by Theodore Roethke.
The house settles down on its haunches
for a doze.
I know you are with me, plants,
and cats—and even so, I’m frightened,
sitting in the middle of perfect
The possum was probably driven out of the fire area.
If so, it swam the river and then traveled across a mile or so of woods, fields and yards to get here. That's a long trip for a little guy who looked barely half grown. I hope it hasn't been eaten or squashed.