Heading down the snail trail there is a virtual light at the end of the overgrown emerald-shrouded tunnel. The sun peeks in, illuminating the foliage in sharp relief. The air is redolent with leaf mold, stagnating creekbed, and the shit of small dogs. The insect-eaten lace of summer's fare lines the path. The light begins to blind as I move into it until my vision is reduced to a squinted glory-filled circle.
Around the corner, the net of tiny violets, each one smaller than my smallest fingernail, is still blooming, webbed and flung over the rock wall. It has further climbed up and spread itself, bejeweled, over the evergreens. Nasturtiums bombard the eye with their one-two punch of orange and yellow.
Ahead, gnarly fruit trees bend under the weight of apples and plums. Hedges once bright with blossoms are now embroidered with berries. Rowans are holiday harbingers with dangling beaded ornamentation, handfuls of red and orange. Sweden's love-herb, kärleksört*, is blushing in gardens all over town.
Under the pear trees, I come up behind an elderly woman walking leisurely along with two adolescent kittens gamboling around and behind her. One is a tiny black-and-white, the spitting image of Pooka. The other is a bouncy tiger-striped grey with white hindquarters. I slow down.
"They're so cute," I say, "Are they yours?" No, she answers, they're just so tame they are following along. I laugh, "I thought you were out for a walk with your cats."
"I am," she smiles. "In a way."
GOOD NEWS! My brother called to tell me he got a job!! HURRAY!
Hippo Birdie Two Ewes! Happy Birthday Wishes to lonita!
Really Good Writing Out There Right Now: Scupper Music
BWA HAHAHAHAHA! Keyboard Garden