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?

Photo: Seedling © Archana Bhartia | Dreamstime.com

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