Saturday, May 23

sunshine and cold nights

I'm about to make myself a cup of hot chocolate to take off the intense morning chill before going for a walk with Cedar in the jogging stroller. The annuals are in the ground, the tomatoes are planted, the strawberries are laden in green fruit. It's been go go go the past four days while Tim has been at work. Everything turns into a blur and I look forward to his return to shake some interest into the normalcy.

Saturday, May 16

time-lapse days

35mm film, pentax camera

Baking potatoes in the oven.

That throaty trill the robin makes as she flies out of the garage. I cannot find her nest.

Cedar and Tim at the farmer's market, buying salmon for dinner.

The plastic film canisters from my mom, filled with last year's seed. Love in a mist, cosmos, coreopsis. Hollyhock she collected in Estes Park. Cardinal flower, cleome, calendula.

Watching the steady move of things to be done around here, getting done, a little at a time, like the tide receding or like time lapse photography. Today, a pile of garden tools, a cluster of laundry baskets, a hammer, a filled basket, an empty wall. Everything swept together flotsam-jetsam and slowly finding its way back to tidiness.

Friday, May 15

the wings of winter birds

35mm film, pentax camera

It's hard to believe now that winter is gone and the weeds are growing high. The colors are green, not white and blue. We are barefoot every day and one of us is naked most times too. The seeds are planted, the raised beds are built and filled, laborious as that was with wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of good humus or leaf mulch or compost scraped from various places in the yard. At night my back aches with the labor and the fan blows the welcome cold spring air onto the futons.

Last night Cedar slept in his bed all night until the morning.

After breakfast we go out and open the door to the chicken coop and all the chickens leap out in a dusty joy of freedom, dancing and springing over the grass. They are Reuben and Luke, Hope, Esther, Ida, Sesame, Agatha, Sundog, Cherry and Peach.

Now birdsong is so loud it wakes us up. And we see the birds still, but not so many. Not like just a few short months ago, when the yard was covered with the shadows of their wings and they ate companionably shoulder to shoulder on the back railing, under the snow and blue skies.