Letters from the Outside, #58
A lovely night. Beneath a rainbow
haloed waxing Moon in Libra I watch the most marvelous heat lightning
in the south through the trees. And the crickets and the peepers and
the watersong of the creek and
All is Well.
Were in for a stretch of
fine weather so I planted out the pumpkins and moved the Tomato
seedlings to bigger cribs, setting them down deep to grow a strong
root system, after which I rewarded myself with a walk up the creek,
and found a fallen Robins egg somehow unbroken between two branches
lodged between rocks. Made it all the way to the house before it
fell, revealing its perfect little yolk, a lifetime set aside.
An
afternoon in true sunlight benefits all the others also, the leggy
Parsley begins to stand, miraculous, and Marigold emits her heady
scent and the Calendula straighten, and rise. One brave pea seedling
sprouts from the ground. The strawberries thrive from warmth and
weeding.
I hear the thunder now, as the rain moves toward us, the
night rain that brings thick morning mist to Cloud Valley and driving
to work along the highroad detour (the old road wont be open until
about the time you come home) we see it from above, and it is a pure
expanse of white that could be land, or lowered sky or water. It is
also lovely and marvelous to see. The sun on all that concentrated
vapor, slowly thinning into ragged banners through the branches of
the trees that crest the ridgelines, now sprouting their little
leaves.
The lightning is magick and electricity, and it infuses me
with a happiness only the honest heart of nature can bring. I am
grateful to witness these phenomena. So I trundle the flats in to
shelter on the back porch for the evening, as they would certainly
drown were they left to the elements. Even the dogs seem to stop and
wonder at the sudden flash of light that plays beyond a bank of
clouds. I remember sitting with the priest with our feet up on the
railing, watching heat lightning move along the mountains, smoking
cigarettes, and not saying anything, a lifetime ago.
The Moon is
this close to full, and I am wide awake in this miraculous, magickal
world. All the cats want to be out mousing now, but im sure theyll
caterwaul and call at some small, inconvenient hour to be let in,
escaping the mad toms and the rain. I had forgotten how lightning
travels around the rim of the bowl of the valley, from the south to
the east toward the lakes in the north, the hot front chasing all the
cold away. T. and I were baptized by raindrops the size of
silver thimbles, but it was brief. And now to bed, to dream of
Horses in high water, and labor pains, and Manatees.
Cold grey
changeable days follow, one ear cocked for rain to hurry haul the
flats down from the picnic table back under the porch roof, and
today, not even clearing fifty with brief, teasing flashes of
sunlight between long, bereft stretches of damp grey, I set them out
just outside the door, to harden them a little against all the
variables this northern weather holds. The weekend may prove more
pleasant and amenable to my gardening objectives. A few solid days
of sunlight would dry out the ground enough for me to till once more
before the corn goes in, and in a few weeks, the tomatoes.
The peas
come up in fits and starts, few and far apart (definitely should have
found that rhizome powder) but everything else seems to have found
its footing, the broad, prickly radish, the wee filaments of carrot,
the slender, ruby-veined beet seedlings. Ill transplant some
garden-wandering Rudbeckia into the open spaces in front of the
house, and the persistent Comfrey from the center of the vegetable
patch to along the outside, a dense hedge of broad leaves and pendant
purple flowers.
Over the weekend I sowed four rows of corn and set
out the lettuce, planted another Dicentra, some strange pink Siberian
Iris (the flowers of which I may not see for some years, who knows?)
and some snapdragons for T. Unceremoniously pushed some more
pea seeds into the ground between the apparent seedlings. Next year
inoculant, without fail. Planted onion whips around the new
rosebushes Cowboy got from his kids for his birthday. Leaving the
perennial garden bed alone for the season, but thinking about the
north facing patch, what small changes I can make to fill the awkward
spaces.
The Lemon Balm is invasive, and at the height of summer
looks like a weed by the roadside to anyone who doesnt know better,
so I may pull some out where I can and set down something, dare I
say, prettier in its place. Hell, more Dicentra. Columbines would
be nice, but they never seem to self-sow, like the Hollyhocks, around
here, and it all gets smothered by the Balm anyway. But its been
wonderful to see the world slowly fill in with flowers and leaves and
grass, this nothing-short-of-miraculous awakening. Dead coyote by
the side of the four-lane. Mountain lions spotted south of here.
That april snow killed all the Lilac flowers. Blackberries begin.
We love you.
