It's been far too long away--away at my desk, putting together a new book, away taking art classes with M.S., away to the pond. A few days ago J. and I went to the Cambridge Public Library and took the elevator up to the children's floor. There's a delightful corner with a view and a carpeted area in which to sprawl and loll with books and toys.
The carpet is sculpted. I could feel the soft humps through my crocs.
The giant zinnias are coming into their own. Tomorrow the magenta ones should open. Magenta!
Turtles come up to sun themselves, always the same rocks, always their heads facing the same way.
Another neighborhood sight--a rare one in this liberal area. I smile whenever I see it. Why does this display give me so much pleasure? The fixed, frozen quality, I believe, the display of foolishness.