Posh air, mist-filled fog, and yesterday’s rain has left the world soaked. Ovate leaves on a plant that grows like lettuce – perhaps amaranth – nicely bunched and succulent, a burst of maroon on each leaf, it dwells low in the stream, spring’s overflow in sheer ripples around it.
4.10.2019 12.54 a.m. 44 degrees
Prequel to color and hot breeze, these wood violets in bunches, overlap the new grass and the stream that flows around them. Nomads on the wind, one spring they’re here, another there, denizens of the wetland, underfoot, raggy, and full of spring’s subtle colors.
4.11.19 7.19 a.m. 32 degrees
Paired mallards, their reflections lustrous, the morning’s calm ours – I pretend I am not encroaching on them, though of course I am. noir necks with white pearls just the right length, below their viridian heads; ducks I have waited for you for months. Welcome to the pond.
4.12.19 9.08 a.m. 43 degrees
Pacey footfalls this morning, hoping that the ducks overstayed my interruption yesterday, but they are gone. Now’s the time for the pond to begin to awaken, however, and the dreck of last season’s leaves become the birthplace of so many.