June 20th, 2013


And since to look on things in bloom/ Fifty years is little room

One reason I don't get much read these last months is that the weather has been splendid. I mean it's rained not a little-- it was raining last Thursday, and the one before that, and though it didn't rain three weeks ago, the next day it poured. But when it's not doing that it's comfortably cool, and of course light till past nine: and so I walk about the neighbourhood in the evenings and look at the yuppies' and muppies' and retired Italians' gardens, which are well worth looking at.

On my street a honeysuckle vine has wrapped itself halfway up a concrete street light, and the smell is heavenly; two blocks over it's a Sleeping Beauty rose hedge. There are Martian flowers I cannot name, like the something that grows into a purple sphere but empty at the centre. The peonies and ajisai- what's that in English? right, hydrangeas- are coming out and should burst forth in the coming week's heat. Of course, the coming week's heat will probably drive me back indoors, to the comfort of the fan if not the AC; and then I shall read more. (Like last year, doggedly reading my way through Brust and Griffin and Carey until the heat of July cancelled all memory of what I did.)
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