The trees in Des Moines
are leafed out fully - I'd say they are probably a week or so ahead of the trees here. There - it's a great green murmuring. Here - it's a whisper perhaps.
We've got greyness overhead. That extended all the way west to Des Moines yesterday. Saturday was a hanging grey day too.
I have not been writing much. My writing likes a regular schedule, to bed by 8:45 p.m., up at 4:00 a.m., else it plays hide and seek and I can't depend on anything. Sometimes I can't depend on anything even if I do my voodoo rituals and my regular sleeping pattern. That's because when it finally comes down to it, writing is not something you choose, writing is something that chooses you. All you can do is be ready.
An oriole in a branch of the willow at the end of our driveway, in all its fireball orangeness. Color in the tulips along the garage, a few are nearly ready to open. The peonies are stretched to their full height, they don't seem to have set buds yet. The sky is starting to disappear behind some of the trees - those half-leafed out to the half-hidden sky.
Tom,
Your post makes me think of my family's move from Dyersville, Iowa to Plymouth, Wisconsin. I had been in school out in Omaha when I first came home to visit in April. In Nebraska, Iowa, all places "south," it was green, lush, and WARM, such a contrast to what I discovered in their new homeland, a place I was unfamiliar with. "What kind of frozen wasteland did you move to?" I asked them. But I followed them regardless, and now, I have lived here longer than anywhere else in my life, 32 years. Yes, we take longer to warm up in spring, but I can't imagine ever moving back, down south.
Oh, and my parents grew up in Des Moines, so any reference to that place always grabs my attention.
Posted by: Dawn Hogue | May 12, 2008 at 08:51 AM
Hi, Dawn. We were in Des Moines that day to see my father in the hospital - he'd had surgery to correct an aortic aneurysm; I wrote about it in KISSING POETRY'S SISTER. So the trip had some stress - seeing my father laid out like a fish that had been cleaned. Yet he survived it, and still prospers. I know what you mean about the change of Temperature Zones. Seems that the upside is generally lovelier summers for us here. Certainly you appear to have gotten yourself stuck to this piece of ground.
Posted by: Tom Montag | May 13, 2008 at 09:26 PM