Blooms in Winter

This morning is easier. The frogs sound nightly in the Pond, and I almost got all the lawn mowed yesterday. This morning is rich with humidity, but is still cool enough to enjoy. Rain overnight, apparently. I miss the sound of it in this basement apartment.

But when I walk out, to take the dog to his line, the grass is especially green, emerald green, on fire green. The flowers appreciate the overnight drink.

I need to take pictures today. Last night, my midnight snack was popcorn. The New Adventurers, the kittens, have gotten to the bag, and dug out what is left. They carry it in their mouths all over the apartment, like swarming tiny ants.

Tomorrow they leave, except for Autumn, now named Pancake.

Tomorrow, Winston Churchill, the biggest of the litter, will go to his new home, and Shrek and Minkins II will return to Angels of Assisi, to be showcased, and eventually, adopted.

Pancake will stay with me for more socialization, until she moves in with a friend of mine, who is her new parent. I know you rejoice with me that two of them are adopted already. I hope that Shrek and Minkins II will not stay at Angels for too long. I have hope.

Tomorrow morning, I will again start to blog from Whisper of Fields. I will post on Facebook, Twitter and Google the same as always, so it will not be hard to find me. 

This morning, the grief is less. It slowly leaves, slower than a stream in a forest. It was as loud as a cicada, and now only murmurs. It stirs the wind like butterfly wings, instead of roaring by in a torrent. It is therapy day, a day when shafts of sunlight shine down through the trees. The forest is oak today, and there are no brambles between the trunks. Just pale silver, tallish grass, like a prairie.

The paving stones outside my door are still festooned with the violets. And the stone is dark grey today, and the ground steams. The impatiens wait like small, colorful soldiers, straight and tallish. The yellow wildflower has two more blooms. I hope today will be a cool, still day.