Skip to main content

Vernal On Sunday





My calendar says it is the 15th day of the 3rd month of the 15th year of the 21st century, a specificity that should focus a mind to the present point.

My head says, is this Sunday? Possibly it is…

No real decisions are made but we find ourselves stalking the moorlands with a sharp wind and a shovel. 
We heft a small sack of horse poo half a mile or so, a circular route, back to the car. Unburdened then up Cox Tor, all the way to the panorama and the full push of wind. We hide for a while in the dip of a rock nest. Dog wags patiently.

We climb down over knolls of buried stone; matted in grass, it reminds me of sloth hair and giant knucklebones. Gargantuan knuckle dragging sloth monsters slumbering under our feet.

In every pool, ladles of frogspawn, rich bubbles of life. 
Even here, where the vegetation is dwarfed by harsh weathering, there is succulence in this waking season.
The sloths will be dreaming of warming sun.

We sit in the car, heater on; we are eating ice cream, rubbing Dog-steam from the windows to watch crow birds hop.

At home, time has flown.

Roast dinner cooks, getting ready to grease hungry lips.

We raise a bamboo arch for future beans.

Dog has gravy on her biscuits then sleeps, then wakes herself with dream twitches.
We laugh and we are so greedy today, we bake pudding.

The day seems plated up, a glut after winter.
Spring is here: we feel it, as though it were in our very blood, in each cell, renewed, this capacity for enrapture.







Comments

Dixie@dcrelief said…
You have ice cream, and the best scarecrow. Who could ask for more? Lovely descriptions!
15 March 2015 at 22:36
Geo. said…
"We climb down over knolls of buried stone..." It's been years since I read a phrase so fine. Have I mentioned you are remarkable?
16 March 2015 at 02:55
Lisa Southard said…
More of the same, that's what we ask for- and are grateful for of course :-) Thank you Dixie!
16 March 2015 at 11:09
Lisa Southard said…
You may mention this as often as you like :-)
Appreciation is the finest of wages.
Thank you Geo.
16 March 2015 at 11:15
Suze said…
I'm with the sloths in dreaming. Fer sure.

Squidman gave me the heads up that you'd asked after me. Have been Lent to the gods for a season. You, I see, have continued to be your reliable, intrepid poetess self. Only better? I think you are improving. Like--dare I say it--wine. You are a phenomenal human being whose words leave wondrous tracks on my soul.

All love,
-Me

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxo
18 March 2015 at 18:26
Suze said…
High praise from Master G.
18 March 2015 at 18:26
The Armchair Squid said…
I love the word vernal. Vernal equinox is one of the finest word combinations in our language.

You're gardening. That means spring is coming, right? Please say yes.
19 March 2015 at 02:06
Lisa Southard said…
It's a relief to hear from you- like 'oh, that's better, balance is restored' sort of better. I hope the gods are looking after you. And now, all this praise to live up to- but I do love a challenge!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
20 March 2015 at 23:40
Lisa Southard said…
Vernal equinox, new moon and a partial eclipse all happened today. It's been one of those weeks.
Me and my garden agree- spring is coming! :-)
20 March 2015 at 23:43
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...
2 comments
Read more

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...
26 comments
Read more

A Happy Kind Of Idiot

I am watching hazel leaves shimmy in a breeze, they are keeping time with the buzz of nettle stings that run from my fingertips to my elbows. It feels like I'm wearing gloves made of needles; why didn't I just wear gloves to clear the nettles from the raspberry hedge? But I like to know the plants, how they grow, how they smell, how they stain and sting, what bugs shelter in their leaves, what grubs and gastropods nestle at the roots. How the roots sneak under weedblocks, moon-pale, and over open ground where they are purplish, bullish.  I like the work to affect, I like interactive life.  It has a little pain and a lot of interest.  Not all the nettles are gone, of course, some must be left to house caterpillars, and they are a healthy vegetable for people too. Today’s crop is for compost though, to feed the soil, the miracle stuff from which this abundance grows. How could I not wish to be close to that?  At home I have a shower, scrub my sore hands- and still I sm...
Post a Comment
Read more