I
must admit it is nice to see May once again, what with it's windows thrown
open, fresh air streaming through the house, past skin and fur and leaf.
Outside, it is flip-flop weather, and
just-fine-in-my-nightgown-thankyou weather, as I step outside not too early to
bid the day hello. Oak and Maple and Aspen fancied up with their gorgeous
bouquets and rapidly emerging leaves, all tender and bright and new. The gymnastics
of passionately courting hawks all about in the air, as smaller birds scurry
about, industriously building nests.
Yesterday I sat outside, throwing the
ball for Dante, being scolded by a female Sparrow yearned for by two males,
each with a small white feather in his
mouth; all of them irritated with me, until I acquiesced and did pull my chair
back from the forest a bit, to give them room in the twisted Bittersweet to
settle things.
The
nights are warm and full of soft breeze; the mornings throwing light upon all
fantastically growing things.
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