Sun, hail, spotty rain, more warm sun, more sprinkly rain, sudden bursts of wind, temps up and down: what a wacky, wonderful day it's been. Three new trees have come to visit us and I've accommodated them in the front and side yard, but I wonder if the weather has made them feel welcome. "What a weird place we've come to," the peach might say to the apple. "Is it always like this?" the second pear might query the first.
At the end of the day, a low orange sun puts a glow on the westward-looking slender faces of every tree trunk as if together each were witnessing glory.
I've sawn a couple of limbs off a burly old maple that has been pressing its body through my chain-link fence. The wire grid is embedded in the hard bark as it might press on my soft palm if I pushed hard against it.
In the vacant lot next door, a python-like vine has twined around and strangled a young sapling before lassoing the branches of taller trees. The victim tree bulges between the relentless spirals of the dark, rough-barked predator vine. It's uncanny the ways hard wood can slowly, over years, simulate damage done to tender flesh.
I observe these days in my kitchen situated in the north corner of my house that, sitting at the table I can feel the morning sun on the back of my neck through the east window and feel on my face the evening sun through the west window.
This room seems like the prow of a great ship, and I on the bridge. Or to think of it another way, the whole house is strangely like a ball rolling backward so that the morning and evening sunlight can cross paths right where I drink my coffee.
Be careful, Peter, not spill as the earth tips you topsy-turvy.
No comments:
Post a Comment