Some sort of flowering vine has volunteered this year, and is beginning to scale the chainlink fence that divides the two parts of the yard. I need to get my dryer fixed, or a clothesline installed, because that fence is where I drape my wet laundry. I can't do that if it gets covered with a vine.
The forecast is now predicting highs of 80 degreees tomorrow and Tuesday, so I'll be getting lots of open window time. There is a promise that it will briefly drop back into the sixties next Friday and Saturday, but I'm doubtful. There is also a very slight chance of rainthose days. Although I would welcome a few April showers, I am skeptical. I don't think we'll be that lucky.
In other news, my spellcheck application appears to have quit working. I have to keep fixing my typoes by hand, when I spot them. But I'm not going to spend too much time doing that tonight, as I beleive English people are supposed to start murdering one another shrotly, and I certainly don't want to miss the elegant slaughter. Plus I should eat something. The nephew raided the freezer and devoured what I'd intended to have for dinner (though leaving the box from which it was taken), so I'll have to improvise. Something from a can, most likely.
by Rae Armantrout
Almost all the words we've said to one another are gone
and if they were retrieved, verbatim, we might not acknowledge them.
But the tenor of our talk
has been constant across decades!
(Tenor is what we meant by "soul.")
the way we joke
by using non-sequiturs, elliptical remarks
which deliberately suppress context
of time's rub-out.
"When size really counts,"
the billboard says
showing the product
in one corner,
so we need to search for it.
Come find me.
behind these words.