I have what the wife calls 'muffin top'. This is not a dress
code. It is a midriff bulge. A consequence, I hope, of time
usefully spent in sedentary pursuits.
But, Spring has called a Boat Tailed Grackle, and American Robins are
bobbing for territory
as they flock in the south field. All this and the best I can manage is to waddle
around the vegetable garden carrying a shovel.
For a while I feel like that big strawberry, the garden designer.
Butter fingered and immersed in fairyland. Yet in the soil is the
hoppy-bug because I saw its parent amongst the eggplant late last
summer. A beady-eyed queen with lazy wings, her children and
relatives will soon be
I thought too about the aedicule, that space within a space within a
space, which adherents to the Winter Solstice Competition
contemplate. The universal. A singularity. Whatever its
This is I suppose a belief along the lines of something religious, but
without bishops or princes or garden designers. Nor does the
aedicule own that comfort of bishops and princes and garden designers, all
of whom will tell you what to think.
But mostly I made my resolutions: Tooth-care and weeding. Tidiness, so I might not lose
things. Shaving more than once a week and bathing more often than
that. These things and the vegetable garden should reduce 'muffin