rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Watching the Day

The weather here has now become so pleasant as to be enervating. I am amazed that anything gets done in this place this time of year. Even the cats, when they bother to rouse themselves at all, merely stroll about, unwilling to rush for anything, even their dinner. All that blue sky, all those restful shades of green, sunstruck or shadowed, all that softness in the air; who can concentrate on a day such as this? Thoughts drift through my mind and vanish like wisps of cloud.

Lazing in the shade of the mulberry tree, I notice that the afternoon air is full of movement, though. Dozens of insects, of all sizes, dart and hover and sweep. They, at least, so not partake of the general torpor. They share the air with drifting seed pods carried along by the breeze. I watch the next crop of dandelions settle on the lawn Also, I notice thin flashes of light here and there. Strands of spider silk, streaming out from bushes and twigs and telephone wires. There are dozens of them. Someone else is busy. Between two telephone wires, several of these strands hung close together ripple and flutter, appear and vanish, like the ghost of a banner.

Across the street, a long row of rose bushes is now in full bloom, covered thickly in pink blossoms. Soon, the deer will come to snack on them. Closer by, I see that the flowers of the lilac bush, and the lilies and camellias, have all dried to various shades of brown. Even spring must have its reminders of death and decay. As the sun declines behind the grove of trees to the west, and the pines stand out dark against bright sky, the light falls through their branches and sets the understory of smaller trees aglow. The spider silk will blow away, the insects will vanish, the deer will come and eat the roses, and other days will come when it will all happen again, but never quite the same.

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