This year's crane flies have begun buzzing about. Most of them are still fairly small, but I'm sure a few big ones will appear within days. There are lots of spiders for them to eat. I hope the cats don't eat the crane flies before the crane flies eat the spiders.
There will be partly cloudy nights for the next week or so. The moon-watching will be good, and I'll have the black and white cat for company. It's time to lay in a supply of frozen fruit bars, since the nights will be getting warmer later this month. Spring has me lazy, though, so I'll probably end up putting it off. The nicer the weather, the more reluctant I am to spend any of it shopping.
Sunday Verse
Water Picture
by May Swenson
In the pond in the park
all things are doubled:
Long buildings hang and
wriggle gently. Chimneys
are bent legs bouncing
on clouds below. A flag
wags like a fishhook
down there in the sky.
The arched stone bridge
is an eye, with underlid
in the water. In its lens
dip crinkled heads with hats
that don't fall off. Dogs go by,
barking on their backs.
A baby, taken to feed the
ducks, dangles upside-down,
a pink balloon for a buoy.
Treetops deploy a haze of
cherry bloom for roots,
where birds coast belly-up
in the glass bowl of a hill;
from its bottom a bunch
of peanut-munching children
is suspended by their
sneakers, waveringly.
A swan, with twin necks
forming the figure 3,
steers between two dimpled
towers doubled. Fondly
hissing, she kisses herself,
and all the scene is troubled:
water-windows splinter,
tree-limbs tangle, the bridge
folds like a fan.
