birch and grasses alone on the snow, grey sky indistinguishable. the flat world falls into the edge of time, lifeless, dull wedge of horizon and soundless ...
22 May 2011
Earlier in the evening my daughter and I watched worms dart into the wet ground when we stomped or jumped; when I went out in the late evening damp they lay there plump and unconcerned, probably knowing all the birds were asleep. After such a long, cold winter, and a cold, wet spring, it's easy to forget how irrepressible life is, how the push of seeds breaks soil long before we're ready to garden. I missed a few heads of garlic last fall, and they were up and growing when the ground was half frozen. I managed to get a few seeds into a the ground on a single sunny day in April, and I nearly forgot about them with the subsequent weather. And now, when I'm still hoping for enough dry weather to get our garden planted, my peas are nearly a foot tall, and we ate a big bowl of arugula this evening. If a living thing is given half a chance it grows, flourishes, thrives on air, sunshine, water, and warmth. The wet air in the evening sometimes carries, in addition to its wet, the knock-me-over inhaled-intoxication of plum blossoms, apple blossoms, lilacs, and all things spring. Life comes so soon, so quick, and it's here right now.