A wind blew thru here at some point last night.
I was hoping that maybe a wild wind might whip up and spin all the leaves into a nice pile. Last night’s wind was the kind that just had enough strength to scatter all the leaves in every possible direction…and the aftermath looked like a lawn sized Jackson Pollock painting.
I could have stayed in my studio all day, but the sun came out and there was that Pollock outside which my neighbours, those who don’t have any artistic sensibility, tend to see as a blemish in this ridiculously Truman show neighbourhood.
Being slightly resistant to Truman, I threw on my million year old Uggs, grabbed the lawn rake and started to methodically rake up the leaves. I was thinking about the time I discovered that I didn’t have to drink cow’s milk in order to have strong bones. About the three dead bananas in the kitchen and weather I wanted walnuts or chocolate chips in the banana bread. That there must be something wrong with me because I can’t stand that Downton Abbey thing while everyone else is watching it. That I really shouldn’t let three weeks elapse between visits to the yoga studio and when the teacher asks “Do you have a regular practice?” I hesitate and then spend the class trying to lift my leg above my head. This, my friends, comes with inevitable consequences…like the inability to turn one’s head to the left.
Then I pile the leaves in a bare patch of ground behind the giant cherry tree and realise that raking leaves is much cheaper than therapy.
And now I’m in the studio finishing these two song sparrows and wondering if I should make burritos for supper. The clouds are rolling in over the harbour. Big, dark clouds that I hope will bring rain in buckets and knock the rest of the leaves down.
Computer’s about to die…must hit publish…where the hell’s the charger lead?