Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Saturday, August 23, 2003 We’re expecting a break in the heat this weekend. At least, I am. Thursday I went out to the edge of the cornfield where BD was painting the bottom of the boat. It’s a fairly good-sized field - maybe 70 acres - surround by forest, domed by the blue blue sky. And I heard crickets. Crickets in my house are my most hated enemy. I would take 10 roaches for every cricket. I had not realized I was a cricket hater till the year zillions of eeensy weeensy miniature crickets hatched in the front yard and began hop-hop-hopping till they could get over the front door sill. They were all small enough to creep between door and sill and there were quite hundreds of them in the house. Cute little bugs. Jimminy Crickets. Chirpy crickets. Crickets on the hearth - and in the boots in the foyer and in my laundry baskets, eating my favorite clothes, and shrieking like banshees at 4 a.m., tearing me from precious much needed sleep - on work nights, even! Then began the little flame of fury in my breast, now grown to a steady burn. Woe betide any cricket foolish enough to creep beneath my front door. It’s a battle unto death. Outdoors, though, is an altogether different story. That first rustling cheep along the hedgerows, the gradual crescendo into full Mormon Tabernacle Choir-type singing, fills my heart with the promise of ease. Once you hear their songs, you suddenly realize the knotweed is budding - MeadowBeauty is filling the ditches along the road - not just goldenrod, but the first of the tickseed and crownbeard are blooming. There’s a golden yellow cast to the vista from all these late summer flowers. And the scent! How the air smells like ripening. Ripening wildflowers, with their promise of mast for the birds; ripening trees, with the first fall of hickory nuts and the little green acorns filling out; ripening corn, with it’s promise of a check from the granary in town. It’s almost a salty smell, certainly a bread-like one. It makes me feel rich. It makes me feel snugly. It makes me feel at peace and yet full of hope. It reassures me that the cycle of life spins endlessly and I am free to enjoy its revolutions with every turn of the seasons. Of all these seasons, though, Autumn belongs to me. I was born in September, right at the beginning of the celestial turn. My coloring is very autumnal. I blush to admit it, but I liked school - even High School, although I hated childhood and was very glad to be officially grown up. I wanted my own set of dishes and, in fact, I just wanted to be my own boss. So these days, when I hear the crickets in the hedgerows, when the sun shifts a little lower in the sky, when my nose catches that dusty yeasty smell, all the happy peace in the world seems to settle around my shoulders and arms and really - life is just so good. posted by Bess | 5:18 AM |
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