|WHERE DO THE BIRDS GO WHEN IT RAINS?|
|BEDRAGGLED TIGER LILIES|
New England. It all comes back.
I'm at Eastern Point Retreat House in Gloucester, Mass. for the month. Yesterday, the 4th of July, supposed apogee of summer, traditional day of cookouts and sunburns, we were visited by a torrential downpour/borderline hurricane that continued the whole day long.
At night, instead of a bonfire under the stars, we had an actual fire in the fireplace--not to toast marshmallows over, or tell ghost stories around, but for warmth. This goes far toward explaining why I creep about L.A. wrapped in a hoodie, a couple of sweaters, and a scarf, 'just in case.' The forecast for the entire week, in fact, is gloom, wind, clouds and rain.
Jesus, I notice, had the good sense to be born in the Mediterranean: land of figs, grapes, wheat, and the healing rays of the sun.
No, seriously, who cares. It's all beautiful, all the time. There are all kinds of nooks and crannies in which to curl up with a book or just gaze, and one of my favorite outdoor spots is the adjacent Niles Pond, which teems with mallard ducks, cormorants (who stand on rocks with wings thrillingly outstretched, apparently to dry them), lily pads, and a pair of swans.
excuse me, the deluge has let up for a minute and since this may be my last chance for awhile, I'm going to go out and take a brisk walk before cabin fever sets in.
|MAYBE THE SUN'LL COME OUT today AFTER ALL|