Wednesday 20 February 2013

I think you would like her.

She sits in the park with her back to a tree and reads things that do not match. Beneath the spreading canopy she reads about robots and space ships and genetic modification where she should read classics or about settlers or about cats that talk and smile. Maybe she reads those books too. Perhaps she reads those books sitting in an apartment or a science lab that is too cold and modern and glaring to read of dimly lit trysts and whispered allegiances. You'd like her.

Wednesday 6 February 2013

Planters and Pretty Things

These last winter months have been rather unpoetically hectic and poetically grey. Taking my time to enjoy its little moments though has been very pleasurable. Pausing in my walk home yesterday, I heard the steady dripping of a melting icicle hanging from the eaves and I waited until the dripping climaxed in the icicle slipping down and crashing into the shrubs below. Staying rewarded me with a second crescendo to the plodding sound of the drops in the snow.
In between midterms and studying- reading Chaucer and Shakespeare, which has likely been the most wonderful kind of studying I have experienced- the new IKEA catalogue has been catching my eye. I am utterly enamored with this sweet little greenhouse which is destined to find its way to my house and windowsill on my next trip to the coast.
Also, my fox has gained two new friends. My boyfriend so kindly surprised me with the adorable hedgehog the other day and the antelope was a rather impulsive purchase from the clearance table from the local toy store. He reminded me, however vaguely, of the forest spirit of Princess Mononoke.