rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Splendid

There is wind and rain and a great chattering of birds. Jays and crows and acorn woodpeckers are out in large numbers. They appear to be fighting over the dry spots protected from the gusting wind. The dense foliage of the mulberry tree blocks my view of the utility pole on which the woodpeckers usually congregate when rain falls, but I can hear their frequent squawks. The jays chase one another among the leaves, and the outbursts of the crows sound from the taller pines. Drama!

The dead lawns of the vacant house next door are soaked, deepening their color from yellow straw to golden brown. Another day or two of rain will return them to green, though they will be strewn with the brown leaves the oaks have shed. It is almost as cold now as it was early this morning, and the clouds are so thick that there is not even a bright spot to reveal the position of the sun. The pungent smell of rotting leaves is pervasive. It is a perfect day.

I particularly enjoy those moments when the clouds ride low, closing in on the forest. Then, wispy vapors drift among the roses, and the treetops become like wan shadows cast on gray slate. Despite the absence of direct sunlight, leaves glitter with drops of water and the wet street shines, reflecting the turbid sky. I can't remain indoors while there is such splendor to enjoy.
Subscribe

  • Reset Sixteen, Day Forty-Seven

    Another day got away from me, and I have no idea where it went. I only remember the last part, when I made a dinner that turned out to be too large,…

  • Reset Sixteen, Day Forty-Six

    The rain had not begun when I went to bed early Friday morning, but when I woke up that afternoon it was doming down quite nicely. It only continued…

  • Reset Sixteen, Day Forty-Five

    The jet stream is shifting, making a big bend southward down the west coast, so it is increasingly likely that late January and early February could…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 0 comments