Two client meetings in the morning, then to the garden. Below freezing when I left, warmed up to 50°, just barely, in the sunroom as the sky cleared for a hot minute. The flooding has subsided, down to one inundated bed. Was able to walk to the back of the garden on the wood chip path sloshing like a water bed. More rain predicted.
Sat in the sunroom. Read the free papers I'd collected along the way: Phoenix, Improper, Bay, Epoch, etc. The only kind I read. BP for music, IB for food, BW for dish, Stuff for random useless stuff, ET for, well, ET news, Metro for its bracing dose of intellectual rigor. I bypass Fashion Boston and Barstool Sports. Could be contagious.
Mating and nest building apace. Pine tree of grackles sounding like a haunted house of rusty hinges, cackling ghosts. Robins fishing in the sodden garden beds for drowned earthworms, pale as death, rebounding from their mud berths like rubber bands. Hawk hunting on high. Geese goosing (I guess). Mourning Doves calling mournfully, wistfully, fated in love. Sunday strollers, cruisers and sightseers. The other usual, but often flightier, fauna.
Image ... Statuette. Uphams Corner, Dorchester.
