So here I sit, halfway through May, 70! seventy seems like such a magical number, a threshold, perhaps mental or winter weary, just 24 mere hours ago I thought about penning the misery of a cold “unforgiving” rain, one that seemed keen to rob me of my day off, I can almost taste them now, in spring, days off, the promise of all the things I love to do outdoors crushed by the cruel scheduling of Mother Nature, but at least, for this moment, I can bask in this, especially after the tides of rain of late, my lawn certainly looks greener than I recall, my Japanese maple is invading the walking path to my door, taunting me to dust off my trimmer, my various bamboo plots are literally jumping out of the ground (not always where planned), the smell of a fresh cut lawn hits me, my neighbor has one of those do-it-all riding mowers and pretty much does my whole yard without a word, who am I to contest? our interactions at best are usually just the nod as I drive past in the morning to work, he’s a good guy, a family man, two kids, he and his wife have the same first name, some sort of cultural thing, “han”, I refer to them as Han Duo, and they get the joke, he invites me to his pool sometimes, I usually decline, at least, I have in the past, I see two asian indian girls walking up the street, I have seen them before, I always wonder about people’s stories, one of them is usually wearing some Rutgers schwag, I don’t know much more than that, or what house they are from, I used to know everyone up and down, but things are different now, or so I am told or so I experience, the day moon stands prominent just above the clouds, shaded in the same color of blue somehow, I’m sure there is some scientific explanation, but I’ll just take awe and contemplation as sustenance for now,
maybe this is a perfect segment of time
no perceptible wind, seventy degrees, the sun is nearly down and certainly no longer in my sights, insects are not yet quite in season (although there are a few outliers but certainly not sipping mosquitoes), I try and listen to the stillness of it all and wish to internalize the sum, capture it, stow it away for future use, rare are the days that allergies do not cripple my olfactory line, this is one of those times, where I can feel the expression of all my senses full, I do not bemoan my condition, it is a mere penance compared to many before and gone, and even, perhaps, a too familiar friend all these years, my iris are in full bloom which most likely is a sure sign my daffodils are quite gone, I do not have the will to go look at the scene of the natural crime, why kill the mood? even the uneven sound of clamoring garbage bins being dragged out to the curb does not top the bird call competition, common birds but still a remarkable collection, and there is quite the mic battle, but, they seem almost like children trying to get the last word in, before the night,
in between light
perhaps that is a better way to think of the dark.
music to read by…
Groovy, hypnotic bass line, kind of like Doors meets the Beatles.
(this is part of my porch series… an ongoing exploration of the same thing at different times but with the same mind, this one, all thoughts, comments, questions and likes are all appreciated, thanks.)