Baby pink camellias. Butterfly bushes. Bradford pear tree blossoms. Tiny leaves on the weeping willow where two weeks ago the limbs hung, bare. Daffodils. The temperature has risen above 50 degrees every day for the past few weeks. Beware the ides of spring. The geese forage for food. The geese swim in groups of three to five, little armies on patrol. The breeze cools my face, flushed from the knowledge of last summer's heat wave. I mourn winter.
A couple poses for photos, probably for their engagement. I feel my eyes roll. Her dress is too small for this weather; she tries not to hunker down into herself, looks like she wants to suck the chill bumps in with her breath and practiced smile. I hear several birds calling but I'm still unable to identify them by sound alone. I wonder about all the mulch they put down under the willow oaks and why. Won't it just wind up in the pond? Sediment.
There's a solitary white duck making his way to the geese. I wonder where she came from. I don't know why I assume it's a female. She follows close behind a group of four -the last link in the chain, dangling. A tow headed child wobbles toward the pond. Another group of geese scatter. I miss my quiet, rainy days here. There will be more and more people coming as days mount into warmer months. They've already turned the fountain back on and for a moment, I understand that cantankerous old Ed Abbey. Just leave me be. In the woods. To the woods. With the birds and the squirrels. But I won't abandon my car or live in a yurt, either.
A large goose sits down about twenty feet away. He preens. His neck bends impeccable shapes, reaching everywhere it needs to. Another dries himself in long strokes of beak down feather and simple shakes from head to tail like my dog the minute water hits him in our porcelain tub. Their heads glisten dewy black. The sitting fellow tucks his beak for a moment, then comments on the two that are either trying to mate or trying to fight, it's hard for me to tell from this angle. He repeats the pattern. I wonder if he ever gets rest.
The couple snuggles on a bench across the way. "Dude, this tree's kind of badass," she says, and climbs in.
It's a crepe myrtle. I'm allergic to their pink and white flowers. They bloom all summer. I'm starting to dislike them. I'm grouchy that way. The goose's tail feathers catch the breeze, tilt up. I long to run my hand over his neck and back. He moves further away.
I understand your grouchiness when it comes to flowering, for a long time I suffered mightily with season allergies although the doctors were never able to pinpoint the source of my spring into summer misery. For some reason, last spring, I kept waiting and waiting but the allergies never came--I don;t know if that's what I can expect from now on or if it's a fluke.
ReplyDeleteAs for the couple taking their engagement pictures, public displays of affection, even staged ones make me extremely uncomfortable and surly as well. I don't like to participate in them or see them and I don't understand why they annoy me so thoroughly.
I love your varied style. You balance the short, terse bits of description beautifully with your longer (if ever so slightly) reflective thoughts.
ReplyDeletePlaying devil's advocate: this idea of missing your solitude within the confines of a city park is interesting. I know that it is probably a shock after weeks of winter visits, but it's only to be expected I guess. It's exactly like Abbey; he seems triumphant in telling off the guy from Ohio (even though subtly), as if he is mad at the tourist for being a tourist. But isn't a National Park made for the tourists? I would have to argue (and I mean no offense) that a city park is made for engagement pictures, tan-barked trees, and wobbling children.
In all seriousness, though, I empathize with the loss of you "your place." We all need those rejuvinating groves of solitude. I thoroughly recommend that you take a road trip into the mountains over spring break if you get a chance.
Chris, You're totally right to point out the contradiction, especially considering how I felt about Abbey. Never underestimate the power of a bad mood. I surprised even myself. Most people would have been thrilled with a day like that.
ReplyDeleteIt's interesting how we think of nature as soothing, calming, but here I get the sense that it had the opposite effect. Being there reminded you how un-solitary you were. I'm also interested in the mourning of winter. Maybe mostly because most blogs from the northern parts have been willing and wishing it away for months!
ReplyDeleteHow sad that crepe myrtle makes you sneezes. It's so lovely to look at.