It's quite late. The house is quiet except for the cat. She needs a room. my study is out of bounds because the hamster lives here. I think I'm 5 seconds away from giving up on capital letters, I so often mistype them. I'm not e e cummings but I think he had a point, it's just easier and he made it into poetry.
I'm not sure why I write this blog. I hate the schlep of getting here, I often lose my posts I prefer the written word. Tonight I have no answer.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Spring Time
"Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully out of Nowhere)"
It seems one moment it's still winter and then Spring is about in frail green leaves, new bird songs and people move with some smile in their walks. My Spring arrives with birds. Tiny birds appear in my garden and one day I hear the call of a "Piet my vrou" a shy dull looking bird with a call full of memories of long sunny days and slow sunsets. The vineyards are newly green and somehow you can smell the possibility of great wines and imagine even greater occasions for drinking them.
Me, I love the winter and the summer can be pretty hot at times but spring is just perfect, like the littlest bear's porridge, not too hot and not too cold, just right!
(which comes carefully out of Nowhere)"
It seems one moment it's still winter and then Spring is about in frail green leaves, new bird songs and people move with some smile in their walks. My Spring arrives with birds. Tiny birds appear in my garden and one day I hear the call of a "Piet my vrou" a shy dull looking bird with a call full of memories of long sunny days and slow sunsets. The vineyards are newly green and somehow you can smell the possibility of great wines and imagine even greater occasions for drinking them.
Me, I love the winter and the summer can be pretty hot at times but spring is just perfect, like the littlest bear's porridge, not too hot and not too cold, just right!
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