"God made everything out of nothing, but the nothingness shows through."



glorious. warm. the breeze belongs to a true spring, high blue and thin gauzy things of cloud for the eye to play with, as a kit plays with its shadow, a cat its tail. the eye wants for color and shape, unconsciously kindled by the scent of mud and new water, the eye is hungry. the eye realizes that its hungry. and everyday the colors change, the light changes, everything grows greater and more intense, it rises from within itself and is carried by time and the wind toward and into our blood, our souls. spring.

"Serious-minded people have few ideas. People with ideas are never serious."



"The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be."

spring a pale goddess ankle deep in the creek, spread snow-angel in the brown meadow, belly to the sun. spring, singing the buds awake, they open to hear her. spring follows faun prints through the woods laced even still with sharp tats of snow. follows the song of water follows the thrust of the bud follows the longer shadows into a gentle night ever erasing at either end, the stars changing station, watching over other seasons elsewhere.



this morning made coleslaw and sauced the shoulder for the boys, came home and made sharp cheddar mac and cheese, we feasted. but the day was long and i felt as if i were treading deep water, the meds a floatie strapped around my neck by a well-meaning guardian. all that unseen effort just to breathe. creamy tang for creamy tang was a comfort, made by my hand, and i always remember when carl sagan said that if you really wanted to make an apple pie from scratch youd have to start with the big bang.


"The universe is built on a plan the profound symmetry of which is somehow present in the inner structure of our intellect."



poodles go to groomers, i still cant find the elusive indoor watering can, the precarious alpine pile of media avalanches in fits and starts into the crevasse between the counter and the fridge. the boys have eaten well, and theres ice cream.

"Nothing retains less of desire in art, in science, than this will to industry, booty, possession."



in the dim evening bringing through the first open windows of spring the smell of rain valleys over waiting for night the radio plays tom waits singing you can never hold back spring. ani sings work your way out. some days are more difficult than others to navigate but i am never not amazed at the wending path i find myself following blind. i know theres a pony in there somewhere, the old joke goes.