It is that time of
year when I am torn between inside and out—between my comfy bathrobe and a
mound of pillows on the bed/and a chilly fading of daylight in the patio, where
one adventurous geranium blossom has ventured forth today; between the silence
of the house/and the sporting of the neighbor out back with dog and goats;
between a half an hour with a book (but which?) while the clay pot chicken reheats, the
rosemary tinging the air/and a little cloud-gazing, vinca-appreciation; between
stirring up some bread with pumpkin seeds and hemp, sunflower seeds and flax,
and maybe a smidgen of fennel or cumin or cardamom/and sitting still out in the
growing dusk collecting impressions in a notebook.
An indecisive
month—lion or lamb? Forwards or
back? Sad or happy? And why decide, why not putter or
poodle between one thing and the next, at will or whim, leaving the windows
open and the fire (if I had one) lit?
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Oranges through
Screen (Santa Monica, 2011)
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