By Nicky Beer
In the yard, the wind hasn't yet begun its nervous rearrangements
like a hand in a pocket jingling loose change; everything's still
bound to the earth by its own thoughts. This season has returned
too many times to be an accident, always in the usual bright vest.
Jigging the front path again and again is the same robin,
coming close enough for me to see the song twitching up
the dense scales of his throat. He's been insisting that
we'll have a gorgeous clutch the color of pallid veins,
that I'll doze on a throne of halved headlines and butcher
string. I tell him hush. That the neighbors are already talking.
There, the deliberate shadow of a large bee being cast
and recast in the shallows of morning light, and the movement
alone is enough to make me leave the porch's shade and follow
it out and up into an implacable brightness, seize it
and feel its terrible answer pierce the inside of my mouth.
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We had gorgeous weather on Tuesday, for which I am grateful because I already have a flood watch alert from the county for Thursday even though the storm is two days away. I mostly did work that had to be done indoors, then I folded laundry and watched The Banger Sisters which Dementordelta loaned to me. I hadn't seen it before because although I usually adore Susan Sarandon, I usually don't like Goldie Hawn, and I thought Geoffrey Rush had a much smaller role than he does; it's all kinds of wonderful and I'd say that even if Geoffrey Rush wasn't in it, I love all the women and their relationships (the daughters as well as Vinnie and Suzette), I like that it really doesn't vilify anyone for making bad choices -- the men as well as the women, but particularly the women since women are so often judged more harshly in movies, and the men are less dimensional anyway, even if it's all a bit over-the-top farcical at times.
Which applies to Glee too, which actually moved me this week and I am so sorry to say that a song with which Gwyneth Paltrow is involved is my favorite so far this season. Sure, it's partly because Santana and Britney do justice to my adored Stevie Nicks, but it's mostly the backstory -- spoilers -- it's so rare for television to acknowledge that bisexuality exists, and although Gwyneth's character's implication that it's all just a phase people go through when that's what's available really irritated me, I thought both Britney and Santana came across really sympathetically for once. I also loved the scene with Kurt and his dad and the sex ed talk. As for the farce with Emma and the failure to take celibacy at all seriously, ugh.
Paul made vegetarian gumbo for dinner and we had king cake (store-bought, but still good), so it was a nice Mardi Gras even though we only celebrate it as a festival of all things New Orleans with occasional Brazilian Carnival elements, rather than as a feast before Lent. When I walked in the woods while younger son was at tennis, I saw four deer and many dozen robins in the field in front of the courts, so I know spring is nearby, yay! Here are some photos from Longwood Gardens, indoor orchids, in anticipation of outdoor flowers soon:
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