Applying mulch to raspberry beds in sweet May's sudden summer heat: forehead drops prayer-beads of sweat into the riotous dandy-grass alive with bees between my brother's australian boot and my brother's australian boot. Eight species of butterfly intimately met over the day, three of them exposed to reversal film, two of them taken onto my finger. No bulls, so much the better. A baby instead. Birdlets' beaks gaping in their nest. A couple dozen good oysters from Long Island Sound.
Thursday, 21 May 2009
Happy Birthday Ian!
Applying mulch to raspberry beds in sweet May's sudden summer heat: forehead drops prayer-beads of sweat into the riotous dandy-grass alive with bees between my brother's australian boot and my brother's australian boot. Eight species of butterfly intimately met over the day, three of them exposed to reversal film, two of them taken onto my finger. No bulls, so much the better. A baby instead. Birdlets' beaks gaping in their nest. A couple dozen good oysters from Long Island Sound.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Today is your feasting day, a day of blessing beans and grapes, a day for blessing the first fruits, the fortieth day after the western church observes Easter, the twenty-eighth day since i have seen you or spoken with you.
Will was visiting last night and this morning we rode in to the city together, in retrospective tribute I dedicate our awakening and morning ride to you on your birthday, even though I forgot to make note of it with Will at the time.
And I also dedicate this version of The Wabash Cannonball I'm about to pick out on the guitar to you, wherever you be.
There you be, as Will would've said.
I still love you,
Seth
I love you too
and you
and you
and you
Post a Comment