By Louise Gluck
There was an apple tree in the yard —
this would have been
forty years ago — behind,
only meadows. Drifts
of crocus in the damp grass.
I stood at that window:
late April. Spring
flowers in the neighbor’s yard.
How many times, really, did the tree
flower on my birthday,
the exact day, not
before, not after? Substitution
of the immutable
for the shifting, the evolving.
Substitution of the image
for relentless earth. What
do I know of this place,
the role of the tree for decades
taken by a bonsai, voices
rising from the tennis courts —
Fields. Smell of the tall grass, new cut.
As one expects of a lyric poet.
We look at the world once, in childhood.
The rest is memory.
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Tuesday had absolutely gorgeous weather -- temperatures in the 1970s, crocuses and daffodils coming up everywhere -- and I can't remember anything I did besides walking in the neighborhood to look for bunnies, walking in Cabin John Park on a trail we don't think we've walked since before older son left for college (plus we visited Porky the Litter Eater, who's been in the park since I was a small child), and walking around the next cul-de-sac, where we visited with several neighbors. We could hear spring peepers!
We tried to watch Billions at lunch, but the new episode isn't On Demand yet, so instead we watched a Bones episode. In the evening we watched the new Agents of SHIELD, which was pretty good -- used most of the cast, though needs more Bobbi and May -- and Limitless, which was not hilarious this week but got back to the drama and family story which is fine with me (that show better be coming back next season). My cats are all being completely crazy tonight; I hope that means more warm weather tomorrow!
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