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All the trees have opened their buds in the last few days, scattering seed which the wind sweeps down the sidewalk in yellow blankets. Late this afternoon, we took the dog for a short walk in the drizzling rain and every tree and plant looked richer, more dramatic.
I am struggling with finishing a cold wax painting for a student show that I have to drop off on Friday. Hoping I get one decent piece that I can show.
The last few days everything has started to burst into bloom, the daffodils included. We had a hard rain the other day, one we really needed and all the green shoots began to emerge. The cotyledon, the fragile tissue from which the flower emerges, appears almost transparent, overshadowed by the rich color of the flower bud.
I don't know what it is about cleaning house that prompts thoughts of looking back. I guess one of the reasons is that I usually clean house around a holiday (although I do actually clean other times too). But, usually, on a holiday eve, I'm cleaning because one or other from the family are coming over and I really do need to clean up some of the clutter. So I go around the house and begin dusting, looking at the picture of my mother holding my son on the park jungle gym when he was about 4. And that prompts me to think about how nice it would be if she were here tomorrow, which is impossible because she's been gone more than 20 years now. Then, taking a break, my husband walks into the room and I mention my Mom and Easter and he begins reminiscing about all the lovely dinners his Mom used to fix on the holiday--and we remember, laughing, the lamb cake that sat in the dining room on the table as a decoration, that never was eaten. And I never asked why. And then I think of all in the family that we've lost over the last 9 years, my brother John, then Billy, then, just this last November, my brother Dan. And I miss them.
Then, because the day has turned lovely and the dog is yearning for a walk, my husband and I put on his leash and walk out into the spring afternoon, delighted at the newfound warmth. And I notice all the flowers beginning, small red tulips and blue scilla. And I'm filled with such optimism about the days ahead--picking up plants next weekend at the arboretum, getting my hands dirty in the garden,
taking more pictures.
Easter: looking back and looking forward.
I went out to the arboretum today to discover that a huge swath of the prairie had been burned in anticipation of new growth. I'm thinking the burn probably took place last weekend when the weather was much warmer (we're back to 25 degrees today from 76 on Saturday). The scene was stark and the fact that we'd had snow last night didn't add to the ambiance. But there was a lovely blue sky today for most of the afternoon even though I had to wear earmuffs to appreciate it. And soon, I know, there will be flowering. Planning a picnic one afternoon in the daffodil glade as soon as it warms up.
The temperature took an abrupt leap downward yesterday afternoon. From 72 degrees to 40 degrees and rain today. Snow expected late this afternoon. But in the garden, nothing waits. The daffodils are drooping, but I'm hopeful. A lovely bit of moss is dotting the bricks along the garage wall and on several old logs that Ollie, my neighbor, many years long gone, put down to organize the perimeter of his garden.
Moss is Little Noticed
-- Charles Carr
Their limber, nimble
bodies and wooly hair
climb, clasp settling
on the surface of everything,
a velvety rootless succulence.
