March 13th, 2005

caillebotte_man at his window


Orion long gone, the dipper has wheeled around to where it is clipped by the pine, and the east grows ever so slightly deep blue. At last the heat has subsided enough to silence the frogs, and the sleep-enamored town holds silence to itself like a blanket. It is possible once again to shiver, just a bit. Unstirred, the air hangs from the darkness, waiting to be folded back by the advancing light. A sprinkler clicks on and sends mist to drift beyond the reach of its chattering stream. Alive now with sound, the air trembles, all anticipation, and sighs to touch the new leaves.

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Dusk aroused a west wind, which carried a hint of the sea. Afternoon gave no hint of change. The mulberry tree's green flowers puffed out small clouds of pollen that hung for a while and then dispersed. A small, white butterfly, the first of the season, explored the new flowers. Lily stalks glowed deep green in shafts of sunlight, the insects buzzing about the still-wrapped blossoms as though impatient for the moment when the first pale streak of white would emerge. The bush at the end of the walk has sprouted flowers, too, and the progress of evening turned them slowly from white to gray, until, by moonlight, they resemble patches of moss scattered over a dark wall. Then came the waves of ocean breeze which now break against that wall and pour into the house, eroding my last thoughts of winter. Night is finally submerged in spring.