I'll be back when my garden grows.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
We follow the high sound of an owl to the woods, then just see it float down a dark hollow. Then cracks in the dark, something stepping ahead. We chase down the path, farther down the hollow, and hear the rush of hooves through leaves.
When we stop, we are down in the dark and a shape is above us on the crest of the slope, a standing silhouette, a snout, and then gone.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Monday, April 17, 2006
On Easter, after time with the family, I dig in the garden, tend flowers, sew seeds, but no one would mistake me for a gardener. Our plot teems with mold and ladybirds, ladybirds. Snails, two copulating in my palm. And broken bricks and broken glass, wire and bone, a chipped ink bottle. The long lower jaw of something, a something with long teeth pointed like thorns. Where I shovel through a tumble of orange vertebrae and long bones, we put two box plants in and christen them Sparky and Fluffy.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
All afternoon, I turn earth and think about how the sun moves. We'll try sunflowers and snapdragons and marigolds and asters, beans and peas, maybe pumpkins.
And I remember my old friends, the snails. I must invite them out for beer soon.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Saturday, Grandpa pumps up the tires on the kid's bike and raises the seat about three feet. She takes it out, makes two turns on the concrete, tests the brakes once, and rides away for the woods. I walk behind to carry her drink and push on the long hills and lead the way past scary boys, but when she goes, she goes and I cannot catch her.
In the park on the other side of the woods, she spins and spins round the same circle. I watch from a seat in the middle and nod my head in approval at each lap.
She stops once and calls me over to see something on the path, a fuzzy caterpillar, first of the year. It curls into a ball when I pick it up. We put it in a safe place away from the path but it stays curled as if it has looked down and seen how it goes.
On the way home, I lose the kid. We meet at the door and we ask each other where we have been.