ISBS

Salon.com publishes weekly highlights from their forums; this week is a particularly wonderful piece about dandelions, extolling their virtues and power of symbolism.


Aspen showed me this upcoming collection of short films by a great artist: Dave Mckean's Keanoshow.

Leaves are shivering outside in the wind, a rain dance that will bring clouds down on our heads. Last night I sat in the big hammock in my little backyard, dwarfed by rope and plants and clouds, watching the sky jealously as it fell dark at 10pm. Now I'm filled with the knowledge of days getting shorter again and I feel it in my guts-- deep in my intestine, although perhaps that's TMI. I mean, I don't have Irritable Summer Bowel Syndrome or anything, but I feel it deep in my center of gravity. It makes me unbalanced. It's a solstice hangover, the payment without the payload.

I am so tired and out of sorts today.

the day in nature

Walking from the parking garage to work this morning, I enjoyed watching three small birds gang up on a larger one in midflight. I couldn't tell their species because of how high up they were, but it was fascinating to see the small birds take turns to swoop in and peck the larger one. Although each of them was roughly one-fifth its size, the tactic obviously worked to drive the predator away. Each time they attacked him, he changed direction sharply, flapping out of his preferred glide.

I took my usual afternoon walk, not keeping a sharp eye out for snakes like I usually do. The bark dust trail along the far edge of the lake was strangely devoid of geese, but near the end I heard-- and saw the aftermath of-- a huge splash. It looked almost like a turtle from the corner of my eye, but I was pretty sure that only frogs (or toads) take such flying leaps into the lake, so I waited for a head to appear. A mallard duck flew in for a landing to investigate, which is always fun to see up close. After a few minutes, we were both rewarded with a huge frog (toad?) head floating with its eyes just above the water. Cool.

Yesterday I had acupuncture, went for a 13 mile bike ride, helped Erik make dinner, and then worked in the yard til about 9pm. I marked out sections for Square-Foot-Garden-izing my three raised beds, so tonight I hope to drill holes, twist in eye screws, and run line to delineate the grid. I can't believe how far behind I am in the garden, but I sure do love this time of year in Oregon.

the walk

On Wednesday I took a walk, my usual path at work past the gravel-filled conversation pit where apple picking ladders sometimes stand against the thorn trees; down the stairs flanked by daphne on their east side; past the gym I covet entrance to; over the bridge that spans the part of the creek where nutria and turtles are never seen, and from which I look up at the top of a very shiny building where I once saw a great egret surveying its domain; a switchback through the secret twisting path of the Japanese garden, where the red azaleas and matchy-matchy rhododendrons are out in such full effect that it looks like xmas with hundred of bows tied to evergreen shrubbery; then I'm out on the bark path along the far side of the lake, which is lined with cherry trees on one side-- still in blossom although interspersed with leaves, which tones down the stunning effect of a tree in bloom-- and goslings on the other side. They are attended by two adult geese who are not happy to see me (there are no other humans in sight), and they manage to look as though they are wearing diapers underneath their fat fuzzy yellow bottoms. Bunches of my favorite kind of cherry blossoms drooped face down to the perfect height for a kiss, and after acquainting myself with the flowers, feeling somewhat intimate with the tree, I stood by its side. It was cloudy in layers, ominous but small puffs, and as the strong breeze blew the clouds along, the sun peeked out between stormclouds.

Suddenly, from the corner of my eye I could see the ground dancing. The shadows of the new, small leaves dancing in the breeze made the ground look like it was rippling water, a mirror of the rippling surface of the lake in front of me.

It was incredible, a feeling of swimming through the air, floating in the moment.

The wind kept up, though, and more, larger clouds sailed greedily over top of the sun.

sprinkle sparkle spring

I was walking back from a meeting this morning, closing my palsied Oregonian eyes against the sudden sunlight filtering down through thin layers of winter cloud. The whole campus smelled of flowers-- sugary pink early spring flowers. I felt a few drops on my head, spaced apart, like a mistake of rain.

As I crossed the bridge over the creek it sprinkled a bit more insistently, and in the sun, the water sparkled where the drops hit. It felt like spring was dancing with my senses. Like the perfect flirtation, it was over before I knew it and left me with a lingering smile on my face.

sprung

Oh cruel Nature, today it smells like spring. The air is warmed by sun, and green leaves have woken up. It will only be for this week, but it's enough to perk up Portlanders.

This morning fog was so heavy where I work that there was an infinity effect on the lake. I wish I had my camera for it. Later, when the fog lifted, Cory showed me the drifted ice that's still clinging to the shadier parts of the lake. The ice had the exact square shapes of the lake's concrete borders, and it looked like a lesson in plate techtonics

I rushed home for a chimney repair estimate, and while I waited for the guy to show up I did some yard work. It was glorious.