April 30th, 2004

caillebotte_the orangerie

The End of April

I enjoy coincidence. Reading my friends page, I notice that quiet a few people have either just made a connection (as I have) or are about to make a connection to people or places distant in time or space. It is also interesting that this is happening just as that meme about old LJ posts has appeared. I can't remember if it was supposed to be the fifth line of the twenty-third post, or the third line of the twenty-fifth post, but I did the former. The fifth line of that post is "How thoughtful!" This sarcastic line is part of a rant about Microsoft. Little has changed in almost three years.

I have enjoyed a cool spring night. It is unlikely that there will be many more such this year. The early paling of the sky indicates the onrush of summer, the arrival of which I do not anticipate with great relish. Memories of last July's withering heat still haunt me, and I dread the thought of a repetition. Even the thought of May, usually the most pleasant of months here, fills me with apprehension. The winter was mild this year, and I fear we shall pay for it soon.

But I choose not to dwell on this for now. I'll enjoy what fine days remain, and stock up on ice trays. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we roast.




Something else I wanted to mention: Some musicians *cough* Metallica *cough* have been very snotty about people messing with their perfect creations. I find it refreshing that David Bowie is inviting fans to download and modify music from his new album, and is even running a competition with a prize for the best "mash up" of his work. I suppose it isn't all that surprising that Bowie would do something of this sort. I think it's mostly unadventurous people of limited talent *cough* Metallica *cough* who worry about their work being bettered by bedroom DJs.
hopper_summer_evening

Last April Evening

It has been a sweet evening for the last cat. Waking from her nap, she yawned and stretched and bathed, then had a snack and went out to the front yard where she snooped in bushes and munched some grass, stalked small insects and manicured her claws on a tree trunk. Then she hopped up onto the brick ledge that juts from the front porch and sprawled en couchant like a miniature of one of those lions that decorate the steps of a public library, surveying her sunny world. That world is filled with lawn sprinklers and darting birds, blooming oleander bushes and buzzing bees. Spring goes on as though all were right with the world. A monotonous bird repeats its single-note call over and over like a town crier with nothing new to say. The still air lies heavy, holding the moment in place.