By David Van-Cauter
The end of term,
a long, dry spell.
Someone gave you an orchid with seven flowers.
On the mantelpiece,
each pink head seemed to loll its tongue,
its mouth wide open,
holding its breath,
clinging to the stalk
that drooped to the left.
We fed the orchid, watered it,
and then the good news came.
The image showed us nothing more
than a tiny dot,
but you kept it by your bed,
kissed it at night.
We encased our secret,
spent those hot days
trying not to spill,
every day
another notch
on the strained barometer.
A hosepipe ban,
and the garden was crying
long, dry tears.
It took six weeks
for the first flower head to fall
and the rain to come:
the garden spread out like a swan,
its wings drinking the air.
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I actually was out of the house most of Wednesday! And it didn't rain till sunset! I met Kay for lunch at Tara Thai, then walked around Washingtonian Lake, managed not to spend any money in Target or Kohl's (mostly because they didn't have exactly what I wanted), and generally enjoyed the sunshine and being honked at by geese. Plus I raided a 98% Tornadus with strange men.
The rest of the afternoon was not as satisfying, since I spent literally hours on the phone with CVS Caremark, which tried to convince me that 1) my prescription was not my prescription and 2) my account was not my account. When I got THAT straightened out, they tried to convince me that my non-generic should cost $300. Now I'm waiting for my doctor to call back and do something about that!
We watched The Masked Singer, which is always mindless delight (Gronk is still a masked tiger even though he can't sing), then half-watched Lego Masters where I hate that they Chopped the middle aged women home, and finally Stumptown, which I predicted early on but still enjoyed. Here is some color from the orchid extravaganza in the conservatory at Longwood Gardens last weekend:
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