Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
I felt like T.S. Eliot this morning.
As I wondered, ``Dare I wear I jean shorts and sandals?'' I thought of the pompous Anglophile's ``Do I dare to eat a peach?'' line from ``The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.''
And, no, I don't really care if you don't like jean shorts as a fashion statement. At 53, I just don't care.
Air hung summer thick this morning, yes, heavy as the innuendo in Eliot's line.
Yet it felt good, overdue.
Calling for 80s the next three days for the first time in seven months.
Greenness is finally universal, even the last of the trees, the oaks and elms, are leafing out.
On the town pond, the island goose pair swam protectively around their goslings like two battleships flanking a civilian fishing fleet. If my count was right, there are four goslings.
Not sure if any of the other pairs successfully nested or not on the town pond. I think either predation got them or the cold, wet April.
In the spring-thickened and greened brush on the old rail bed above the pond, something busted out unseen. The meathead tried to bolt after it.
The town-pond red fox? A rabbit? A feral cat or free-ranging housecat, those most evil creatures of our unnatural natural world? I couldn't tell. Neither could Storm.
Back in town, a rabbit bolted across a lawn just off downtown.
A second rabbit charged past my garden.
Storm gave a token jump.
Over the weekend, I hung the hummingbird feeder beside the hanging basket I gave my wife for Mother's Day of a purple million bells and a red million bells flanking a white flower I don't know.
I do know, the change has finally come.
And it is good to notice and enjoy.