Pig and farm report
Beneath a marzipan night sky
Have you ever seen a blooming snake plant? The flowers smell exactly like Easter lilies miniature Easter lilies. I was so proud of myself for growing something so unusual so rare until I looked up what causes snake plants to bloom. Sheer neglect apparently. Stress. Anxiety. Fear. Trepidation. I didn't water it enough. I didn't dust its swordy leaves. I probably swore at it a time or two or refused to sing to it altogether. I may have dropped something on it at one point or played it unruly music. Wore my mean face. Maybe I loved my watermelon peperomia more. But there it is. Flowering (or cowering in fear of me probably) smelling altogether lovely and holding us all together. Haha kidding! None of us are held together in this house except perhaps Queen Jupiter.
The last time I was here we were all still reeling from the death of my son's girlfriend. We have not recovered though we are moving forward. My son is here too much though he is going back to the orchard Thursday to work. In a lucky turn of events his best friend from childhood as moved out here to the island. I relish the idea of sheer privacy and time to myself. In the meantime we are both vaxxed and boosted and still wearing masks. I have not reinserted myself back into the world at large. I may never though I go the grocery store and to the doctor when I am forced to. The dentist is another conversation. It turns out my measly 2 thousand dollars isn't enough for dentures and now my teeth are shedding their skins like tree bark. Covid has been a disaster for we the mentally ill we the inverted we the reclusive we the shudderers and shakers we the dreamers beneath a marzipan night sky.
The owls and eagles are molting and are therefore crabbier than usual. I see them giving me the stink eye when I approach them at the state park. The daffodil fields are drenched in yellow. The frogs are frogging the birds are tweet tweeting. On the television a man asks which is bigger a pancake or my head? I have been reading like a fiend now that I know the truth that reading is a joy which can disappear. I have been studying the symptoms of high functioning depression. It makes sense. Listen to my heart pounding here writing through it boomboomboom beneath a marzipan night sky.