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When they run

line of clouds

2012, Indira Ganesan, Cape Cod clouds, in a line

I caught a glimpse of the horses running yesterday.  I watched as the white and brown raced one another, first one in the lead, then the other.  They are so beautiful, so breathtaking.  It is like a good poem;  it stuns you out of your daily life for a moment.  I don’t know wat I did to deserve this within my sight.

I planted lettuce.  As I prepared the soil in a container, before I even tore the packet of seeds open, on the balcony, a rabbit appeared below.  It had a hint of reddish fur on its nape.  There was a New Yorker cartoon in which a man turns his back on his lush rooftop garden white giant rabbits with wings swoop down to carry off the carrots.

Sighted a snake, oozing into the rocks.  Apparently, there are seven kinds of snakes in these parts, non venomous.  This was either a racer or a watersnake.   For much of the day, I was leery of going barefoot inside the house, even though the snake was outside.

This morning, I saw a yellow bird –harbinger of summer colors?

The skein of Rain

Seedling with water drops

Photo: Seedling © Archana Bhartia |

I wish I could describe the fine quality of the rain that is descending now where I live.  It is like mist, except with a gravitational pull.  It is rain but seemingly not made of raindrops.  On the puddles, by the time the water lands, it is in fact droplets, but in the air, the rain is like the softest texture imaginable.  No, that’s not right, because there are softer textures, finer textures, like silken rice flour, or a baby’s cheek.  But this rain, this mist pouring down, in May, is unlike any of the other rains I’ve witnessed on the Cape.

My life here ebbs and flows.  It puddles, as I ready to enter the homestretch with the final copyedits of my book.  I wonder why I made the choices I did, I wonder how it is I got here, but then, there is the rain.  The horses must be inside.  A friend is gathering dirt for her garden beds.  Soon, it will be Memorial Day and time to plant.  All week, if the rain mist lets up, it is time to plant, after the new moon Sunday.  There, the sky is already brightening.  My cosmos in their egg crate cups are spindling towards the hidden sun, ready to anchor.


Does thinking you can do a handstand count?





2012, Indira Ganesan, first iceland poppy bloom


Green, in Rain

Galium odoratum - lievevrouwebedstro

Galium odoratum – lievevrouwebedstro (Photo credit: AnneTanne)

Green is never so bright as it is in spring, during rain.  It rained like England today, the way it’s barely visible but pouring, lets you can wander happy among the new plants.

I got everything in last week: lavender, lemon thyme, strawberries, hostas, columbines, sweet woodruff, dicentra, poppy, ranunculus, creeping phlox.  Only the cilantro and basil await, and all the annuals from seed.  Here I advise anyone who loves to garden to immediately go to Dan Pearson or Nigel Slater.  They will captivate with lush pictures and solid tales of growth.

I just planted, having amended the soil with compost, but not topsoil.  Hopefully, the rental association will give us mulch and gravel (for paths.)  Though I am only here for another twenty-eight months, I’d like to plant a trio of roses (this morning I thought six) even as I hear my mother shake her head and advise, annuals, from the supermarket, because if they can survive there, then anywhere.  The daughter of thrifty parents with longings for the world of plant luxe, the heady catalogs of White Flower Farm, Logee’s, Landreth’s.

Something is chirping.  Is it a frog–one of those tree peepers? Or a sparrow baby,lost?  Such a disconsolate sound.  The supermoon has past.  He’s quieted now, peeper or bird.  Roses, blooms, buds of spring.


Sticky bun, teapot, vegetables and plant

2012, Indira Ganesan, Sticky bun, teapot, and vegetables

In the interest of improving my blog, I am taking an on-line class called “Blog Triage” with Cynthia Morris and Alyson Stanfield.  In the first lesson, I am asked to describe my ideal blog reader, as a way of defining perhaps what is central to this blog.

My ideal reader I think would be interested in reading my fiction.  This reader does not have to read the fiction, but I hope to stir some interest about what else I might write.  Unlike, say,  101 Cookbooks  or The Gardener’s Eden, two of my favorite blogs, this blog is not necessarily practical, but I hope for a reader in search of a touch of inspiration and curiosity about the daily life of a person who writes.

In a way, it is like fiction, hopefully entertaining reading that might contain recognizable truths for a reader, which might of course be quite different from the writer’s truth.  What I seek in a reader is someone who is interested in words, literature, in the hedonistic pleasures of botany, food, caffeine, music, yoga–the arts. A blog is an open letter not only to my friends and family, but to a wider audience; this blog is a series of essays and observations, pensees, a place to practice, to attempt.

Writers like to be read, they care about their words, hope their work is of value.  Thank you for following me on this journey, and I hope you will stay tuned for more.

~What do you like to read about? What would you like to write about? And are you ready for The Transit of Venus in June?~

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