scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

21.3.10

Vienna waits for you like Ungoliant, like It, and i say that with all possible affection towards Tim Curry. The spring flowers are showing, the little white asteraceae, the pink, the yellow. Those small dark purple violets that aren't violets, not proper violets, not quite, lying dormant through the long winter, a sleeping dragon, a hibernating bear, biding until their moment comes in the sun. Green hiding between the trees, the disingenuousness of the ubiquitous gray Easter salix.

The flowers! E has to stop and pick them, and keeps them safe in her pockets - she has discovered pockets, and will forget that her keys, her phone, her lizard, her police car, in this coat pocket or that pants pocket. Flowers, sticks, pinecones, such joy. Mommy, she says, come an look at da bugs. So open, so clear, so easy. She has been waiting for the freedom of spring, the waterproof pants and the rainboots, running and climbing and poking and shouting and action, action. I marvel.

Labels: writing

scrawled @ 15:42