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Mar. 5th, 2006 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
senoritafishI thought I might give ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dailyparagraph a try, maybe not everyday (this one was actually Friday's but I didn't finish it then). This one probably should be more than one paragraph, though...
A flash of white out of the corner of my eye as I bend my aching back over the herb patch again. Spot is stalking the resident black phoebe again, the logical skeptical part of my mind insists, and there really are more weeds than basil in this planter on the south side of the house; I bend myself to my work again, I've got to concentrate and keep to it or I'll waste the day daydreaming. More weeds than garden on the whole lot, really - the yard has been neglected since my mother passed away. It was always her baby. I love the idea of a garden - I buy books with garden plans and I peruse the catalogs that arrive by the basket in the spring, looking for the the most exotic bulbs and perrennials, or at least different from the typical impatiens, Nile lilies and other denizens of surburban southern California yards. I may even purchase them - but do they ever get into the ground? Rarely. The white again, just out of the range of my vision, and suddenly James Thurber's short story pops into my head - the wife yelling "You are a booby, and I'm going to put you in the booby hatch!" Why does the corner of the yard, where I grew the giant pumpkin last year, look greener than usual? I step over the weeds growing next to my father's decrepit RV I've been nagging him to get out of the backyard. Spot is nowhere in sight, but cats, even white ones, are pretty good at disguising themselves. But, uh, they don't have pointy appendages either; at least, the ones they do have are hidden most of the time, nor are they spiral and seashell-like . Spot's fur is also quite a bit coarser than the wisps of nearly colorless dandelion fluff stirring around that appendage. There's more, slightly visible through the tall grass, stirring a bit in the light breeze, a few feet away. I stand transfixed for a moment, barley breathing, then back away and enter the house; I could watch forever, but some things shouldn't be disturbed while napping...
Theme: There seems to be a unicorn in the garden...
dailyparagraph a try, maybe not everyday (this one was actually Friday's but I didn't finish it then). This one probably should be more than one paragraph, though...A flash of white out of the corner of my eye as I bend my aching back over the herb patch again. Spot is stalking the resident black phoebe again, the logical skeptical part of my mind insists, and there really are more weeds than basil in this planter on the south side of the house; I bend myself to my work again, I've got to concentrate and keep to it or I'll waste the day daydreaming. More weeds than garden on the whole lot, really - the yard has been neglected since my mother passed away. It was always her baby. I love the idea of a garden - I buy books with garden plans and I peruse the catalogs that arrive by the basket in the spring, looking for the the most exotic bulbs and perrennials, or at least different from the typical impatiens, Nile lilies and other denizens of surburban southern California yards. I may even purchase them - but do they ever get into the ground? Rarely. The white again, just out of the range of my vision, and suddenly James Thurber's short story pops into my head - the wife yelling "You are a booby, and I'm going to put you in the booby hatch!" Why does the corner of the yard, where I grew the giant pumpkin last year, look greener than usual? I step over the weeds growing next to my father's decrepit RV I've been nagging him to get out of the backyard. Spot is nowhere in sight, but cats, even white ones, are pretty good at disguising themselves. But, uh, they don't have pointy appendages either; at least, the ones they do have are hidden most of the time, nor are they spiral and seashell-like . Spot's fur is also quite a bit coarser than the wisps of nearly colorless dandelion fluff stirring around that appendage. There's more, slightly visible through the tall grass, stirring a bit in the light breeze, a few feet away. I stand transfixed for a moment, barley breathing, then back away and enter the house; I could watch forever, but some things shouldn't be disturbed while napping...
Theme: There seems to be a unicorn in the garden...
