All this volcanic frenzy over being grounded! And all that time we sat in Normandy under a cloudless sky by night and day, aware that « unseen » causes and effects were stirring up « disruptions » of unfathomable proportions (big and small) around the world and right where we were.
And it is always thus, always.
What are these words stirring? And where? And whom?
I don’t know, I won’t know, I can’t know: Whatever I know comes between.
The garden is bursting, though, with apple blossoms and white flowers and yellow flowers and the Mexican orange tree in bloom. It’s a wild place, the tan cat rolling in the dirt in the sun and slinking under shrubs in the dark night chill.
Still, I don’t know a thing about it. Still.