4.25.2008
4.13.2008
i feel it in the air, the summer's out of reach.
yesterday was the most perfect quintessential spring day i think there ever could be. i'm warning you up front, it was the kind of day that makes me go on and on and on about everything and nothing and how it was all so amazing. but oh man, you couldn't've slept in even if you tried, the sun was everywhere and everything was glowing and you could tell it was gonna be a great day. eight o'clock sipping tea outside in just a t-shirt and the sun's already so warm you can just tell. the rooster's crowing and our little baby easter chicks are cheeping their little hearts out and the horse is actually neighing to be let out, they all just want a little patch of grass and some sunshine, which isn't that all any of us need anyway? that's all we should need. and you can hear all the birds singing, they're singing because they know it's gonna be a day like we haven't had in a long while, they've been up already while you've been sleeping and underneath it all is this sharp silence, this distinct stillness that makes you want to never move and just drink it all in forever.
something happened, something changed, the night before and through the day -- all of a sudden, there were flowers on the cherry trees and with every hour more and more appeared until the whole orchard was in full bloom and then the bees, the faint hum of the bees doing their sweet work high above your head. the neighbor's dog runs over and he's decided overnight to start losing his winter fur in big clumps that the breeze floats all over the yard, and did the birches already have their brilliant yellow-green leaves yesterday, i swear there are new tadpoles in the pond, and the ladybugs finally moved out of the house, and the maples the maples are opening.
no work today, nope this is hammock hangin' weather, this is sun on your face weather, this is the type of weather in which it's sinful to stay inside because the day isn't going to be long enough, no not even close. i dug some beds because all of this means the veggies'll hafta go in soon only i wasn't very efficient, no because i had to see the views and walk down to the creek and investigate what looked like a little nest in an irrigation pipe. and aw, there's a dark little mouse in there with cute big ears and she's looking up at me so adorably and why won't she run away, and then i saw the babies, they're pink and they're hairless and they're helpless and so unbelievably small that they had to have just been born and one stretches out a tiny little paw with such tiny little fingers and that right there is life my friends. and there's one more reason i'll make for a terrible farmer because yeah the mice they chewed through some of my little radishes and cabbage and beets and they'll eat more if they can but i don't have the heart to say that something that small and beautiful and alive shouldn't have the chance to live and call it a nuisance and cowardly lay out some poison so it can die what's probably a slow and painful death from the inside, could you sit and watch it? and you can't trick life or treat it unfairly or deny it that chance, at the very least that fighting chance, because we'll all do anything to live because it's all we've got and because it's as beautiful as those infinitely tiny intricate little fingers. us humans we don't play fair but maybe it's not supposed to be easy, no more cheap tricks.
the swallows have come back and so have the hummingbirds. the frogs have gone deafeningly mad. i swatted the very first mosquitoes. and it was the first night after their long sleepy winter that the bats flew out, flew out somehow from their nooks in the house, from inside the walls of my new bedroom where you only rarely hear a rustle of wings or a faint squeak letting you know that they're there. you should have seen the bats diving and swooping as if it were some kind of dance as if they'd just discovered that they could fly. yellow dandelions speckle the lawn all over where there wasn't a single one a week ago, everything's living, everything's growing, especially the weeds, so so many weeds. in the barn i hear some very faint high tiny sound and i have to listen to the silence for a minute before i hear it again and then i know and i climb to the top of this huge stacked mound of hay, way up to the top near the ceiling and at the very highest part there's that wild orange cat and for once she doesn't run away and her head's just barely sticking out and she's hissing at me. and when i come back later, she just watches from farther away as i climb up again and there they are, seven of them. seven of the tiniest most adorable kittens i've ever seen, they have such soft downy fur already and they're all different colors but their eyes haven't opened yet and they're so so so small, so very small and boy that took the cake for just about the cutest thing i have ever seen.
you know, i sometimes think wonder know that you can't possibly see what i see when i see all this. they're just trees, it's only some hills, magda that's a bug, and yeah of course it's all very pretty and maybe nothing more. and i honestly dunno what it is, if it's silly or cheezy with a 'z' or overly idealistic but it's the realest thing i know and so i'll say it and i'll say it again and i'll say the same thing over and over for the rest of my life. but you can tell when you're doing something right you know how things are meant to be when you feel it all so much and when it aches inside you and when you wouldn't change a single thing.
did you know -- it felt like i was biking through paradise on the way home from the second farm, the best bike ride of my life. paradise is nothing more than a feeling and i got it from those rolling hills and that clean air and those vast wheat fields that are that perfect rich new shade of green. home is nothing more than the place you love most, the place where you feel you belong. i've moved out here for good, because i love it more than i can say, the sunrises and the sunsets and all the time before and after and in between. the suburbs, they're just a compromise. so much in life seems to be a compromise but i can't do it, because you shouldn't ever have to ask for permission because we don't have dreams just to write 'em off like that (oh that would be too cruel) because life's meant for living, didn't you know? and just that's enough. and also it's yours.
(a little voice inside my head said don't look back, you can never look back.)
something happened, something changed, the night before and through the day -- all of a sudden, there were flowers on the cherry trees and with every hour more and more appeared until the whole orchard was in full bloom and then the bees, the faint hum of the bees doing their sweet work high above your head. the neighbor's dog runs over and he's decided overnight to start losing his winter fur in big clumps that the breeze floats all over the yard, and did the birches already have their brilliant yellow-green leaves yesterday, i swear there are new tadpoles in the pond, and the ladybugs finally moved out of the house, and the maples the maples are opening.
no work today, nope this is hammock hangin' weather, this is sun on your face weather, this is the type of weather in which it's sinful to stay inside because the day isn't going to be long enough, no not even close. i dug some beds because all of this means the veggies'll hafta go in soon only i wasn't very efficient, no because i had to see the views and walk down to the creek and investigate what looked like a little nest in an irrigation pipe. and aw, there's a dark little mouse in there with cute big ears and she's looking up at me so adorably and why won't she run away, and then i saw the babies, they're pink and they're hairless and they're helpless and so unbelievably small that they had to have just been born and one stretches out a tiny little paw with such tiny little fingers and that right there is life my friends. and there's one more reason i'll make for a terrible farmer because yeah the mice they chewed through some of my little radishes and cabbage and beets and they'll eat more if they can but i don't have the heart to say that something that small and beautiful and alive shouldn't have the chance to live and call it a nuisance and cowardly lay out some poison so it can die what's probably a slow and painful death from the inside, could you sit and watch it? and you can't trick life or treat it unfairly or deny it that chance, at the very least that fighting chance, because we'll all do anything to live because it's all we've got and because it's as beautiful as those infinitely tiny intricate little fingers. us humans we don't play fair but maybe it's not supposed to be easy, no more cheap tricks.
the swallows have come back and so have the hummingbirds. the frogs have gone deafeningly mad. i swatted the very first mosquitoes. and it was the first night after their long sleepy winter that the bats flew out, flew out somehow from their nooks in the house, from inside the walls of my new bedroom where you only rarely hear a rustle of wings or a faint squeak letting you know that they're there. you should have seen the bats diving and swooping as if it were some kind of dance as if they'd just discovered that they could fly. yellow dandelions speckle the lawn all over where there wasn't a single one a week ago, everything's living, everything's growing, especially the weeds, so so many weeds. in the barn i hear some very faint high tiny sound and i have to listen to the silence for a minute before i hear it again and then i know and i climb to the top of this huge stacked mound of hay, way up to the top near the ceiling and at the very highest part there's that wild orange cat and for once she doesn't run away and her head's just barely sticking out and she's hissing at me. and when i come back later, she just watches from farther away as i climb up again and there they are, seven of them. seven of the tiniest most adorable kittens i've ever seen, they have such soft downy fur already and they're all different colors but their eyes haven't opened yet and they're so so so small, so very small and boy that took the cake for just about the cutest thing i have ever seen.
you know, i sometimes think wonder know that you can't possibly see what i see when i see all this. they're just trees, it's only some hills, magda that's a bug, and yeah of course it's all very pretty and maybe nothing more. and i honestly dunno what it is, if it's silly or cheezy with a 'z' or overly idealistic but it's the realest thing i know and so i'll say it and i'll say it again and i'll say the same thing over and over for the rest of my life. but you can tell when you're doing something right you know how things are meant to be when you feel it all so much and when it aches inside you and when you wouldn't change a single thing.
did you know -- it felt like i was biking through paradise on the way home from the second farm, the best bike ride of my life. paradise is nothing more than a feeling and i got it from those rolling hills and that clean air and those vast wheat fields that are that perfect rich new shade of green. home is nothing more than the place you love most, the place where you feel you belong. i've moved out here for good, because i love it more than i can say, the sunrises and the sunsets and all the time before and after and in between. the suburbs, they're just a compromise. so much in life seems to be a compromise but i can't do it, because you shouldn't ever have to ask for permission because we don't have dreams just to write 'em off like that (oh that would be too cruel) because life's meant for living, didn't you know? and just that's enough. and also it's yours.
(a little voice inside my head said don't look back, you can never look back.)
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