August 18th

click to enlarge...i'm not sure why, but this appears darker
and muddier than it should, here in typepad land. ah well, i
needed to accomplish something today, so i'm leaving it

i've said it before and it is still true:
i could stare at the sky forever, i think

but then i would miss what the hummingbird is doing
okay
i could watch the hummingbird all morning
drinking nectar, zipping off, zipping back
resting on the willow stem
but then i would miss the unfurling of the morning glory
okay
i will watch it until it is full open
but it is early
the light is just enough to see by
and i might fall asleep here in the hammock
trying to catch a moving petal
and then i would miss watching the old mother cat
stepping carefully through tall grasses as though
she hopes not to have to bathe-clean dewy wet paws again
but straining to see her still as she slinks into the dark hedge
i won't see the first swallowtail arrive and
i might miss the swift's morning ballet.
okay
i could stare at the sky forever, i think.

but soon
too soon the sun suddenly pops out
from behind the neighbor's pines
making my eyes go all squinty
color shoots out from juicy petals
and i think about paints and film
and pencils and brushes
and then i see weeds
and pots that need water
a walk that should be swept
and soon
too soon i remember the other list
sitting on my desk.

i should stay right here
and stare at the sky forever, i think.

Comments

[Terri]

What a lovely way to spend a few hours. We don't look up enough. I used to lay in the grass and look at the sky for ages when I was a kid, but I haven't done it in such a long time. Ok, tomorrow - on my do list - lay on the grass and look - really look - at the sky. :o) Thanks Z.

[Laura]

Soft, sparkling image of summer flowers, Z. The world pulls us in every direction---something compelling in all corners.

[Elaine]

Your image looks beautiful at large size Zeph - as to the sky, so to the sea - mesmerizing.

[Jon]

Ok, I have a story:

I went with my mother (your wonderful cook of a sister) on an errand she had to make to the home of a couple in their 70's. As she conversed cheerily, like she always does, I, in my infinite shyness, stood there quietly, hands in my pocket, leaning against the wall. My eyes wandered to photographs and paintings on the walls, the golf course adjacent to their backyard, and then, in my sheer horror, to the elderly gentleman my mom was conversing with, dipping perfectly good bread into his glass of milk...and eating it!

I thought, “He must have some kind of medical condition that keeps him from eating real, solid food, although he seems healthy...maybe he's senile.”

I squirmed watching him eat that squishy, dripping bread, but I couldn’t look away. It was my Hindenburg. After all, he was eating soggy bread. That’s what ducks eat, for heaven’s sake!

I held in any vocal response until my mother and I got back into our car. To my distress, my mom laughed as I explained the grief this appalling behavior caused me. I was distraught and wounded by the lack of matriarchal confirmation of my dismay, until she told me a story. A story confirmed by today’s The Garden post. The story was about her father, Zeph’s father too, who used to eat bread and milk for dinner, and loved it. Now, I wasn’t completely pacified, because I don’t even like to taint my milk with cookies (although I love cold cereal, go figure), but at least it wasn’t some freakishly unheard of apocalyptical event that I witnessed that night. And, I figured, if people I love can enjoy this concoction, then I guess it’s ok, but I’m not sure I could ever try it. Perhaps on a dare...