May 1st, 2005

caillebotte_man at his window

Deep Blue

An hour before dawn, the trees are ink brushed on cerulean sky which is washed here and there with pale patches of lingering clouds. The moon is unobscured, though, and the slight inward curve of its leading edge seems this morning a harbinger of the season's waning. May's arrival means that spring is almost half gone, and the sultry days of summer approach. I breathe deep the last of night's chill and listen to the songs of the first birds. This dim time is the day's best, and is as fleet as the robins who now soar to branches about to be revealed as green. There is subtlety in the lack of detail, and it is soon to be lost. I want to remember the scene as it is, and carry it with me into sleep.

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caillebotte_the orangerie


There has been just enough rain this spring to keep the lawns lush without hauling out the sprinklers. The green plushness is very inviting, and tries to seduce me into lounging on it, but I resist, knowing that it is full of ticks and various insects whose bites leave itchy welts. The lawn is full of lime disease! The birds do their best to keep it safe, but there are not enough of them to consume every small but deadly morsel. All the placid afternoon, they peck away, but I know that countless creatures yet lurk in that dense growth. But it would be so nice to nap there, while the dappled shade of the mulberry tree glides east and the denser shadows of the pines slowly lengthen. Instead, I watch the sky from a chair as the white clouds turn evening silver, then darken to dusky steel blue. Affixed to the gable end of the house across the street is a fake owl, intended I think to keep birds from the garden, and at a particular time the late sunlight shines through its amber eyes, making them glow with faux-demonic light. I wonder if the birds it fails to repel are as amused by the sight as I am?