Last night: Car, Tree, and Fog. My cheap little Walmart Android phone has a fairly primitive camera, which does not take good photos in the dark. The shutter was so long closing on these that I could actually see the rain, or possibly the wind, or the light itself in great long white streaks the whole time the camera was meditating over its own action.
So these photos are more like charcoal drawings than photographs, particularly this one, looking north into Jane and Steve's yard, where there was even less light than the other way, looking over Beth and Eddie's. This tree, though, isn't long for the world –– Jane told me that it had been struck by lightning and will have to come down, I guess sometime this spring. We've been having major oak attrition, and tree attrition in general, in our two yards over the last few years, and while in a lot of ways I welcome the changes –– fewer leaves to rake in the fall, more sun in which to grow things –– I do and will miss the light striking the crowns of these trees, the complex world of their leaves against the summer sky, and the way the fog hangs around them on nights like last night.
Today, naturally, the sun is shining as though fog had never existed.
High today is supposed to be 58F; already it feels warm and delightful in the sun. I don't know what March is going to come in like, but February, today, is a total lamb.
Wearing:
Enjoying blue and green before the purple onslaught of Lent. Here I have on my wool Camellia challenge dress, which I haven't worn much at all this month, with my thrifted emerald-green cotton cardigan, which I have. Secondhand marble-patterned bamboo leggings, Xero Colorado sandals.
All duly noted in my wardrobe-tracking spreadsheet.
In other news:
Our first poems are supposed to be up this week at the New York Sun, but I'm not seeing today's, which is too bad, because it's by Benjamin Franklin writing on the last day of February, 1746. I hope our whole calendar doesn't get screwed up. My esteemed colleague scheduled and wrote the introductions for this week's poems; next week's, supposedly, are mine. We'll see how this all shakes out. As we keep saying to each other, What could possibly go wrong?
Meanwhile, up at The Millions, here's a reading list for Lent.