Old Trick
By Cleopatra Mathis
Spring wants me back,
and I should know better than to heed
that old hag, the goddess
disguising herself with the first green
she can muster. Her true self hanging around,
gray, icy, bent, gazing from the corners
while I glory in the fine scribble
skimming the trees. I let her
bear the weight of my heart,
not my first mistake: every year she promises
to bring back what I love, and for awhile
she does—a flower here, another there,
fast-talking me through the price
I'll pay later. It's one panorama
followed by the next, the returning
birds in a parade, finches
twittering at dawn. They too
make you think you can trust them:
look at those nests, their faith
at your feeder, but I can tell you this,
keep an eye on the children.
September will come, the ripe business
whirring—everything
you can't see in all the greenery,
its constancy already tinged: a slight cast,
a whine. Your own girl will vanish
under that yellowing wing.
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I spent lots of Wednesday in the mall, but that was fine because I had very nice company -- first my mother for lunch, since it was her birthday, then gblvr
In the evening we watched Star Trek: Generations, since I get to move on to the Next Gen movies now...I must confess that it was a lot better than I had remembered, and if it's true that William Shatner can never appear in RebooTrek because J.J. Abrams can't figure out how to bring Original Kirk back to life, then I can't even regret his death. Here are some more Longwood Gardens flowers and fruit, since I keep running out of time to take or crop new photos (and the weather is supposed to be a nightmare tomorrow):