rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Mildness

Clouds formed and the evening is almost gray. There might be color at sunset, or maybe the clouds are too thick already. Fortunately there is not a lot of heat for the clouds to hold in tonight, and tomorrow will be almost cool. I'm not even regretting that watermelons have not yet come down to a reasonable price. I discovered today that Safeway stocks Coca-Cola made in Mexico— made with real sugar instead of corn syrup— and I bought a bottle to see if it tastes the way I remember it. It might be flat, though, as the store doesn't refrigerate it and the bottles look as though they might have been sitting on the shelf for a while. If it's flat I won't buy it again, but if it is good and fizzy I might pick up a bottle now and then when I'm feeling the need for a nostalgia transfusion.

The fruitless mulberry tree which I thought to be near the end of its days when it failed to thrive this spring after being pollarded a few months ago has suddenly decided to put out a dense thicket of leaves. The thin new branches are unseen amid the mass of them, and only a few twiggy bits extend beyond the big green lollipop it has become. The ball of leaves is at least a dozen feet across, and gives evidence that the tree has plenty of life left in it. It won't be providing any shade to the roof this summer, though, and my window will be exposed to direct sunlight for the latter part of the afternoons. It probably will get a bit wider as the season progresses, as long as I keep giving it some water, but by the time it's big enough to block the late sun in the northwest, the sun will have moved south. The Autumnal equinox should restore afternoon shade to my window. I'm looking forward to that, at least.

I have to rush if I'm to get dinner before nine o'clock, when there's something I want to watch on television. I bought a donut at Safeway this afternoon and ate it on arriving home and spoiled my appetite. All those warnings I got in childhood were as well founded as they are unheeded.




Sunday Verse



After Reading T'ao Ch'ing, I Wander Untethered Through the Short Grass


by Charles Wright
Dry spring, no rain for five weeks.
Already the lush green begins to bow its head and sink to its 
      knees.

Already the plucked stalks and thyroid weeds like insects
Fly up and trouble my line of sight.

I stand inside the word here
      As that word stands in its sentence,
Unshadowy, half at ease.

Religion's been in a ruin for over a thousand years.
Why shouldn't the sky be tatters,
      lost notes to forgotten songs?

I inhabit who I am, as T'ao Ch'ing says, and walk about
Under the mindless clouds.
      When it ends, it ends. What else?

One morning I'll leave home and never find my way back—
My story and I will disappear together, just like this.

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