An English In Kentucky


















March 6th 2010    Tim Candler

    Potato rains in store for us, and yesterday at the hardware store there was movement in the gardening section. 

    Seed displays, potting soil, gizmo devices galore, a forsythia blooming in a ten gallon pot, and much beaming from those gardeners bold enough to push a shopping cart.  Too much adventure for me, so I wandered through the lumber section, because I have beds to be finished before this first March rain arrives.    


    It's dogma that guides me rather than a fluid process.   I stand stubborn against the early songs of Springtime.  I say wait until the Robins call, wait until the Swallows come.   And outside, from his Alatus bush the Close Mockingbird has food to find because soon he will go courting and soon the Blue Jays will cross his territory.

    And yet I find myself like a Salamander amongst these seed packets because I dream of rows and lines and a geometry that conceals excitement.

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