The conditions that prevail in early spring up here at 7500 feet aren't necessarily flowers and blossoms. We watch for other signs. Baby is ten months old now, nearly the same size as her mother and four aunties. When the weather changes, scent of rain or snow on the wind, she runs wildly, kicks up dirt, brakes, turns sharply, deliberately misses the others by inches. I can almost hear her laughing. She is a beautiful package of strength, youth and exuberance. It's not easy to catch her in my lens (don't you love those white socks!).
Recent days have been ultra busy as I meet a couple of deadlines and make final decisions this month on the 20th anniversary edition of the SOMOS anthology, Chokecherries. April and May are generally two of the busiest months of the year for me due to the annual anthology, but with a couple of other commitments thrown in, it's nearly overload. Walking in the park helps and it's what I did yesterday to clear my head and move my sedentary body -- after which I crossed the street to browse sock yarn at Moxie (no new yarns) and then spent an hour at Coffee Spot writing in my notebook.
Outside, a light rain descends on the city, silencing everything. It is as if silence itself were contained in the soft rain. Umbrellas blossom in it. There is a hush along the boulevards as it comes down.
(Lawrence Ferlinghetti, excerpt from "IV" in Time of Useful Consciousness)