We take tea
You and I
Amid the cutlery and jam jars.
You tell me how unhappy you are
and I notice how red
the blooms on the geranium look reflecting
in the toaster.
You are always unhappy -
This time it was the man you were seeing
It could have been your car, your job --
it doesn't matter.
I sit watching changes in the weather, the clouds.
I try to listen, I try to care,
but your unhappiness just fills the room with smoke
-burning toast- I think
and then the geraniums catch my eye.
I have no idea about when I wrote this.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Having survived a rough summer last year, Austin has been rewarded with a mild winter and a sizable chunk of rain. The result is a very lush green spring full of growth, flowers and what I consider to be the scent of what spring is here on my side of town. Every year when the grass gets long and lush you hear the sound of the lawnmowers revving up in various parts of the neighbor hood. Our front lawn got mowed (minus the bits of wildflowers I was allowed to leave and let bloom. (Alas, it need mowing again although it's been about a week and a half. Its that scent of the assorted mowed herbage that tells me it's spring. But it's one particular plant that tells me it's spring.
|on the left the patch of wild alliums behind the tree - ignore the weeds.|