Raspberry Days

Am sitting in my quiet office, eating cranberries and drinking green tea and air and music. After a monster spring fairy left me flummoxed I'm finally typing away with a cool and tidy head like swimming through water. Like in my childhood days when we crossed the lake and off past water lilies. (I don't go for swims in lakes anymore, am easily freaked out by sludge and mire around my ankles.) Come to think of it, I don't like sludge and mire in friendship either. So, coming free of it makes me enjoy the silence even better. I've planted a raspberry shrub yesterday. Can't wait for summer.

Me day

Remember those days when we were little kids? We jumped out of bed without emerging from our little world. We were happy. My cousin and I wondered who had destroyed our little castle in the scrub and suspected, no: blamed, the neighbor boys. We had the air around our little bodies, the leaves, the lush green grass and belly-high cuckoo flowers. Our feet and hands into warm, soft clay mud, we sank into dreams filled with the sounds of plants and birds. My body has made a copy of all of this, and it's this reserve I nourish from. Today I call in a Me day, dedicated to this reserve, to the silence and peace and sensory creativity of little creature in the mud.

Mr. Spring

Dear Mr. Spring!

So there you are, are you? You've brought an explosion of energy already and made my heart stand upside-down with your hazel brown eyes and fuzzy hair of green grass. Whenever I venture outside you surprise me with an air much colder than I had anticipated, judged by the bright sun and convincing flowers. Cold air that is actually a cooling damp cloth to my high-tension brain. There is nothing like this heavy black soil and clear water running between my fingers. No need for any other tactic than just be without one, clueless for once.