Sunday, May 15, 2005

Gray Weekend #4

It would be really nice to have sun on a Sunday instead of this awful damp, gray, dusk-ish oppression that has been hanging over our weekends for the past month. Under normal circumstances, I'd have been up Monadnock at least twice by now and my garden would be full of new greens, radishes, peas. Currently, I'm just napping and watching movies. The soil in my garden is spongy and wet. There is no sunshine, and we still are feeling a damp chill in the air.

This climate is taking its toll on people's moods, too: Dour New Englanders are snippier than usual. Help - desultory at best.

Goodness, how I wish I could to bob my hair and let it bleach in the sun, while my dead-fish-whiteness slowly starts to be replaced by freckles. How much I'd like to put on the plaid sundresses and plant myself in the front flowerbed like some sort of gentrified lawn-butt. To sit in my yard with my girlfriends, gossiping and drinking cheap white wine while the sunsets setting the sky on fire all Maxfield Parrish-like. To sleep with the windows open and the summer quilt replacing the down comfortable.

Not yet, though. Just an attenuated early spring with lots of catnaps and the Criterion Collection on the weekends and the comfort of sweaters and coffee in my cubicle during the week.


Simon Kenton said...

A blaze of afternoon light canted on the hill; rich viridescence in the forbs, thanks to the recent wet snow and a bit of rain; the aspen and narrow-leaf cottonwoods unfurling and odorous; on a pine branch, a cooper's hawk; a little later, a stellar's jay; a house wren rooting about in the lower nest box, trying to decide whether it is sufficiently palatial that he can troll in a trophy wrenette; spotted towhees (the handsome western race) calling near the creek; broadtails whirring about the feeder when the irascible little male blazes off after an interloper; and best of all, a sage sparrow down at the range, with that improbable black dot on the center chest. My first.

Be said...

I have a starling who made a nest in a gutter in the right front corner of my house. The few times I've been able to tend to the flowerbeds, he's kept me company.
I like his song. It's like a mockingbird's, only a bit less melodic and lower in tone.