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April 14 2010
It is April and we're covered with a thick yellowy brown carpet. It is the pollen. The oaks are pollinating us. Zealously. It's falling out of the air, accumulating on the decking and over the chairs and the toy fire engine left in the front yard. It's tracking through the house. Everyone but Auddie and I are sneezing. We're immune to the stuff. The pollen's blanket seems like just another kind of drapery in a state that loves all things gothic— hanging forms of nature. Moss, vines, tree limbs that drape to the ground. What hyperbole here. But I've said that before, haven't I? Anyway, it's quite beautiful as far as decaying verdant is beautiful.
