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psalm_onethirtyoneSomething I really like is driving when it's hot. The road has mirages in it, big silvery pools of water that just flicker disappear when you get close enough to drive through them, and in this part of the county there's always wind rushing by you. I drive through the archways of trees to Newport, and the sunlight comes through spotty and dapply and beautiful. The Car has no air conditioning; in fact, it's stuck on heating and won't turn off, so you have to drive with the windows down or die. It thumps along and hums, and in the back five-hundred things rattle around and fall over when you turn the sharp curves.
My hair always blows around my face and I feel really and truly beautiful.
Deer jumped across the road in front of us on Sunday, and to-day I saw turkeys and guineas and a scattering of chickens like fluffy white constellations across the brown mud of the horse pasture down aways in the hollow. Red-winged blackbirds are in positively millions if you take the back way home.
Maria has started hanging up our laundry outside rather than run the dryer, so we look like the Mennonites with our ropes and ropes of blowing, flying colours. They planted potatoes to-day. I bicycled my loop and went through the park full of fisherman sitting in chairs with bright yellow fishing licenses dangling from their hats.
Every day I feed the fish. The goldfish are fat and smart and gobble up their food right away, but Cyrano can't see very well. He feelers his whiskers up, snuffling around for the foods, and when he brushes against one his big mouth opens wide wide WIDE and in goes the foods, in a single smooth gulp. It's so wonderful watching him eat. He is my favourite. I swear I sometimes feel more genuine love and affection for that fish than my cat (who is turning very malicious in her old age).
p.s. NOBODY TOLD ME THERE WERE MURDER MYSTERIES ABOUT SHEEP. OH, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE, WONDROUS BOOK OF WONDER?
My hair always blows around my face and I feel really and truly beautiful.
Deer jumped across the road in front of us on Sunday, and to-day I saw turkeys and guineas and a scattering of chickens like fluffy white constellations across the brown mud of the horse pasture down aways in the hollow. Red-winged blackbirds are in positively millions if you take the back way home.
Maria has started hanging up our laundry outside rather than run the dryer, so we look like the Mennonites with our ropes and ropes of blowing, flying colours. They planted potatoes to-day. I bicycled my loop and went through the park full of fisherman sitting in chairs with bright yellow fishing licenses dangling from their hats.
Every day I feed the fish. The goldfish are fat and smart and gobble up their food right away, but Cyrano can't see very well. He feelers his whiskers up, snuffling around for the foods, and when he brushes against one his big mouth opens wide wide WIDE and in goes the foods, in a single smooth gulp. It's so wonderful watching him eat. He is my favourite. I swear I sometimes feel more genuine love and affection for that fish than my cat (who is turning very malicious in her old age).
p.s. NOBODY TOLD ME THERE WERE MURDER MYSTERIES ABOUT SHEEP. OH, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE, WONDROUS BOOK OF WONDER?
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Date: 2008-04-15 04:06 am (UTC)