Spring is a work of art best left for the earth to manage.

March is a tomboy with tousled hair,

a mischievous smile,

mud on her shoes

and a laugh

in her voice.

      - Hal Borland

While the heavy wind chime played its mellow tune as March winds heaved and hoed its steel tubes into each other, I listened as its random song lulled me into a stupor of mild intoxication.  I listened for what seemed forever, but of course, forever is never forever; and as the wind lost its fury as if fog beneath the rising sun, so did my equilibrium return to normal affairs of sameness.

I remind myself she lived, and I remind myself she died.  Sometimes I feel I’ve already forgotten my sister was ever a part of my life.  Other times, it feels like business as usual…that if I picked up the phone and called her, she would answer.  Maybe if there was closure… but her family remains silent.

Life is life these days.  Progress is slow on my me room or whatever one calls it.  She shed, studio, shack, den... I’d rather call it the library…if one can call journals the library.  Packages coming through the post office seem to be hitchhiking on the backs of turtles, and my console will ship by freight after three weeks of sanitation.  That seems overkill, so I’m thinking it’s more of a logistics issue.

Yesterday windy…today drizzling rain…I feel like a seltzer tablet foaming away until there is none.  I have nothing to give.  My photographs aren’t quite there, and I have no desire to work until I get it right.  My attention is defunct, and as I return to this computer for the sixteenth hundredth time, I feel as if the air between my ears dried my brain into a whacked hockey puck.

(Above) Bittercress with its exploding seed pods

Wasp nest blown onto ground

Yellow Corydalis

Lacewing Larvae with its coat of lichen and dead insect bodies.

If one looks closely at the little tike below, two legs are barely visible.

Persian Speedwell

Marleen the Starling Fine Art

Purple Deadnettle

Sweet Dustin soaking up a little sun in the spring coolness

Then

the

rains...

(Above) Shooting Stars unfurling on the left -

Species Tulips on the right.

(Below) Spicebush blooming

Lichen fallen from Ash Tree

Moss covered stepping stone drowned in leaves

N. x odorus 'Plenus' Double Campernelle Daffodil (Fifteenth Century)

First daffodil to bloom this early spring

My carpet of lovely green weeds is doing fantastic, thank you.  They are filling up with a blanket of miniature flowers, the kind you must view with a magnifying glass on your hands and knees to see if they are more than just colorful confetti scattered abroad by the breeze. 

Early daffodils are in bud, but all the other bulbs and corms are mere leaves reaching for the sun.  Birdsongs float in all directions weaving a tapestry of early spring in the air that will not last, as spring and winter are always in an on again, off again March battle to warm or cool.

It seems sweater weather, but I enter this warming coolness without it, and walk and walk and walk without other colors of flowers.  The weeds and birds reign today, but one morning an explosion of plants hell-bent on taking over the entire planet will occur…just mark my words.

It might be tomorrow.  I can feel them now, planning their assault...heaven help the mortals with mere hand tools...they will be toast!  The second wave of weed purgatory will unlash the dreaded vetches with their long tentacles, the cleaver plants with their hooked stems and leaves and burr seeds, goose grass, spurge, sweet Miss Dandelion, and on and on and on.

Long live these immortal garden headaches that will rule the earth until its sun implodes!

Hoorah

! 

Saturday's Critters

My Corner of the World