Saturday, April 25, 2009

83 and Sunny on a Saturday in April







It’s one of those days when the temperature erupts and everything erupts with it.


Th
e carpenter bees are drilling holes in the deck again. It’s such a robust, fragile life. I'm feeling an ache for all the people who are losing people. I'm feeling a pang for the world.

In
the morning my tulips are in bud and in the afternoon they are in flower. To my delight the orange ones are intermingled with the violets, an accident of loveliness. The park is thronged with people. Smoke from the grills drifts through the air. There’s a crowd in front of the ice cream stand.

The tulips by the pools at the botanic gardens are as festive as a candy store. Sunlight streams through the pink and purple and orange and red and yellow petals as if they were stained glass. Cameras in hand, people drop to their knees. A boy barely walking begins to push closed the giant gate to the native garden. I smile at such things these days.

I see one T-shirt that says “Make Levees Not War” and another that declares “I won’t fix your computer.” For me: first shorts, first towhee, first thrush, first lilacs, first warbler. I think I hear the song of the knife-sharpening truck. My neighbor brings me a beautiful dahlia. A crow appears on the wire next to the pigeons, conversing.

1 comment:

Gerry Gomez Pearlberg said...

Lovely, Karen. In perfect, poetic sync with the season.