Completely forgot it was my birthday, until the e-mails from LJ started coming in. Usually, I do forget. I've never been good at remembering dates. But I'm pretty sure that my birthdays are getting closer together. (Time may be shrinking. Getting compressed.) They seem about eight months apart, now. And, after the last few weeks, I feel as though I'm about 75, going on 18.
Anyway. All I want for my birthday this year is Edward Hopper's Ground Swell. I think they have it at the Corcoran Gallery, but I'm not sure. Somebody steal it for me. And thanks for all the good wishes.
Saturday, but nobody is using a power mower or a leaf blower or a chainsaw. Instead, the stillness is broken only by the occasional flutter of bird wings or the caw of a crow, or a car passing on a nearby street. For a while, two boys were playing on a trampoline in a back yard at the end of the block, but they have gone. The sun shines through the chill air on a placid scene.
The swift flocks of crows share the sky with puffy white clouds which form and grow, drift for a while and dissolve again. Some parts of the sky are slightly less blue than others. They look rather like that Victorian art glass which has a matte finish. A Lalique (sp?) sky.
In the field behind the new modular house down the road, where the ground has been prepared for a lawn, I saw a flock of crows pecking at the brown earth. Later, a few crows were perched in the bare branches of a nearby oak. They, at least, seem to be enjoying the winter. And it is enjoyable to see the trees bare, for a change. It is like having Japanese paintings pop up at every turn.