Tuesday, March 18, 2003
Cape mallow blossom.
We planted an elm tree on Saturday, and more rosemary groundcover on the first slope, above the pasture. The rock rose has begun to bloom in the yard and along the street fence. The butterfly bush and the blue hibiscus need pruning. Both of these plants grow vigorously. The weeds are growing vigorously as well. We pull up weeds all the time, and in the pasture Geoff rode the tractor pulling a bush hog to level some of the mustard jungle.
Last night Max, Geoff and I walked under the full moon. We locked up the the chicas, just as the coyotes began to call to each other. And the frogs have been calling too. From every puddle and soggy spot, all over the neighborhood, the little frogs are singing their croaky song. "Spring is coming, Summer's near," the slippery amphibians sing. And on our walk we saw the last of the storm clouds in the deep and cold, moonlit sky.
From the street, looking to the house, we could see the lights in the windows. Inside Grandma and Grandpa were settled in their room, William reading, Alex playing. Can someone take our picture now? Can we preserve the quiet, healthy contentment of nothing grand and nothing dreadful? Would the colors of night and light, of new Spring and fading Winter be true? Could it capture the spectrum; from the family dinner to the bedtime stories, the laughter and the trust? How best to hold these delicate moments when the frenzied world and nameless dreads are, for the moment, far away?