May 20th, 2005


Morning Again

A bird fight is taking place in the mulberry tree. Two small birds of the sort that normally sit and chirp mildly are making the most astonishing noises as they attack one another, with a great fluttering of wings and much posturing. They must be bickering over territory, or perhaps a female. I hear thrushes nearby, as well, providing a more ornate morning song than I've lately been accustomed to. I also saw a few crows flying, but they have been silent.

Last night turned out to be good for cloud-watching after all. I thought we'd seen the last of them for a while when they all scurried away last evening, but they returned by midnight, to intermittently shroud the moon and soften the night shadows. They have brought no more rain, and I expect that they will diminish as the day passes. The temperature is expected to near eighty degrees today. I'll be waking up every couple of hours to shed blankets, as it is currently cold enough to require a big pile of them in order to get to sleep.

As I was listening to the crickets a few hours ago, I wondered if they enjoy the physical vibrations which their noisemaking must cause in their bodies. I wonder if that sensation is actually why they chirp? Crickets don't appear to get to do very much in their brief lives, so it would be a nice compensation for them if chirping were like sex, for example. This thought, of course, lead inevitably to the realization that this night music to which I listen with such delight might in fact be the result of the cricket equivalent of masturbation. The thought that I might be surrounded by masturbating crickets was so startling and amusing that I disturbed the nocturnal peace by laughing out loud, whereupon the crickets momentarily ceased their song, as though embarrassed to have been caught at it. Sorry, guys. Don't mind me. Please, continue.
bazille_summer scene


Sunlight reflects from a small pool of breeze-rippled water and casts a shimmering pattern on my ceiling. That pool, or another like it, must have been the breeding place of the mosquito who bit the inside of my left wrist as I slept. Itchy! It's my first mosquito bite of the season. The sow bug I saw crawling across my porch a moment ago is also the first of the season. I'm looking for a third first today. Firsts should always come in odd numbers.

As I expected, the day has turned bright, though not as hot as I expected. The sky is spread with patches of cirrus clouds, woodpeckers are slowly dismantling trees, and the balminess has induced someone nearby to mow their lawn. The air is filled with the scent of fresh-cut grass. The aroma goes well with the itching of the mosquito bite, reminding me of how itchy I would get when I rolled around in the tall springtime grass when playing some game (or no game in particular- just rolling in the grass for the fun of it) with boyhood friends. Today would be a perfect day to be ten years old.