3/50 - Sensual spring

Vernal equinox is still a few weeks away, but don’t tell the forsythias. Their whip-like limbs are studded with canary-yellow blossoms that fairly shout “spring.” Fat wads of vermillion Kleenex snared in spiky bushes: that’s the flowering quince. Daffodils compete for attention. Exuberant bird-arias fill the sensuous air. And after a long hiatus, the hens are laying lovely, big, brown eggs. Some days there are five. Each egg has a rich, orange yolk. They taste earthy and fabulous soft-boiled, then fork smashed on warm, seedy whole grain toast and sprinkled with crushed French tarragon. Add a pinch of salt – sublime.

2/50 - Rats

Mr. Wren stalked down the dusky hall, a hulking silhouette carrying a rifle.

“Gonna kill someone?” I inquired.

“Yep.”

He’s a retired Disgruntled Postal Worker, but I wasn’t alarmed. It’s a Daisy rifle. It shoots only tiny BBs. Mr. Wren bought it a few years back after I noticed a humongous gray rat hanging off one of the bird feeders, stuffing his cheek-pockets as fast as he could. When we heard them romping in the attic over our heads, sounding more like energetic, hefty poodles than rodents, he decided to shoot them.

As rat control, this method sucks.

Thirsty

It’s a breezy, gray day, two mornings after the first day of spring and the sky wants to rain but it won’t. No moisture here, only the breeze, rustling the branches of the tall firs, making them sway in time to its music. The new leaves on the climbing rose flutter; the sweet gum’s twiggy bare arms bounce just a little under its staccato force. When the breeze works up a gust, the old chimes by the woodpile sound and I think of monasteries and barefoot monks taking tea on grass mats, the breeze lifting the sleeves of their yellow robes while almond blossoms float through air like flakes of snow. This we long for, the trees, the rose leaves, the chimes, the sweet gum and me: snow, or now that the vernal equinox has come, rain borne on the breeze to quench the dry earth, which only holds on in hope of a drink.

*This is the first of some writing exercises I'm playing with, trying to add music and lilt to my prose. Thoughts, suggestions, critiques and snubs are most welcome.