For wild am I as the winds and rains--
Free to come and to go as they;
Love's moon sways not the tides of my veins;
There is no voice that can bid me stay.
Out and away on the drenched, brown lea!
Out to the great, glad heart of the year!
Nothing to grieve for, nothing to fear,--
Fetterless, lawless, a maiden free!"
from "A Mood", by Princess Amelie Troubetzkoy, of Richmond, Virginia (1863-1945)
I live in a land of drought and flash flood, of scorching days followed by freezing days, of the jonquil in bloom and the shrivel of parched plants. A few days ago, fire raged across the grasslands of the panhandle to our northwest,but this weekend the rain began on Friday night and continues now, well into Sunday evening.
We had a warm and pleasant meal of sushi Friday night, but left the house only to get Mexican dinner on Saturday night. My grandiose plans for hiking amid east Texas wildflowers descended instead into quiet days sitting at my computer, using a freeware synthesizer, a set of samples, and recording on a five dollar softstudio songs with titles like "Windy Baroque Night", "The Mental Echo of Her Voice as Her Memory Recedes" and "Haymarket Farewell".
Today I ventured out to Weight Watchers, for a sandwich, and to pick up books to teach me more about EQ, reverb,
and contract bridge. A chill settles over our home, as the warm weather wilts before the storm. I went for a swim at the natatorium, and as I drove the short drive home, the western sky had the purple mountain's majesty of an incoming storm.
Our newer dog Bea opines that dogs need not take their accustomed constitutionals in less than balmy weather, which requires us to regiment her schedule somewhat to ensure that kibble and constitutional occur per plan.
I noticed that "The Feeder Guppy Rescue League" has 54 members now, which caused me to look into a new exotic tropical fish store to see if feeders are to be had. It is almost time, I think, to set up the guppy tank I've pondered for two years.
North Texas is a land of cycles and extremes. That's why we have one billion varieties of grass and flower, and only a goodish several dozen of shrub and tree. This current drought is not an "unusual" drought,but instead a normal cyclical drought. But now the mental echo of the drought subsides as its memory recedes.
I have the urge soon to drive west, where trees become sparse and carpets of paintbrush will soon flow.
I want to see the undulating slopes of hills of waving grass. I want to order BBQ turkey from people who say "how're y'all dewin'?". Perhaps I should search myspace for ambient artists in Abilene. Menawhile, I play blitz chess on-line, watching my rating rise and fall in 6 minute intervals, dreaming of bluebonnets,
luxuriating in moisture.