March 23rd, 2007


Mildly Deranged

I enjoy walking on the lawn in the cooler hours of late afternoon, or as dusk falls. My footsteps release the fragrance of bruised, trodden grass to rise and scent the cooling air. While walking in the dusk I do need to be aware of any tickling I feel on my legs, though. This afternoon as I sat on the porch I felt a tickling on my neck, so I brushed at it and dislodged a tick that fell to my pant leg before dropping to the ground, where it vanished before I could change my reading glasses for the regular glasses that would have let me track it and crush it. Another reason for getting bifocals next time. Anyway, ticks are even harder to see in the dim light of evening, and they're very active this time of year. I'm always aware that, if life gives you Lyme disease, you cannot then make Lyme-ade—regardless of what the opti-pundits might say.

Anyway, deadly risks posed by tiny varmints notwithstanding, spring is being pleasant. In fact, the weather for the last few days has been as near perfect as it gets around here. Even the afternoon breezes have been favored me, blowing from the northeast instead of the southwest. That sends the little puffs of pollen dislodged from the mulberry blossoms toward the street instead of my window, thus relieving me of any number of unpleasant, wet sneezes.

Watching the afternoons with their thin, bright clouds and sky that seems endlessly deep gives me brief moments of regression to that childhood state when, as I recall, the passage of time had nothing to do with loss, and even the undeniable presence of age in the world was of mostly aesthetic import. Of course, it's possible that I only imagine childhood having been like that. Or maybe there are psychoactive properties in the aromatic essences released by bruised grass, and it is that which has evoked a real feeling I used to experience when lying on the lawn, looking up at the stately passage of celestial afternoon, or at the darkening evening sky and its new-fallen, ancient starlight.