If you’re like me, the honeysuckle scent in the air gives you a bona fide frisson. It’s wonderful to encounter spring in a cautious arrival, and here in Connecticut the vernal season has settled in with a rare beauty this year. Far too much ink and too many pixels have been expended extolling the magnificence of spring, so don’t worry: this isn’t another weary encomium to the prelude to summer.
Nope, I’m just feeling a bit grateful for having finally found a place to call home. River and I moved into a small studio apartment earlier this month in Willimantic (as I’ve previously noted). It’s no luxury accommodation, to be sure. But it’s clean, safe, and has a few pleasant surprises to boot. A roomy kitchen with nice tiling and new appliances, tall and broad windows that let streams of golden sunlight in, and a south-facing wall that allows me to cultivate a few fresh herbs and window box flowers compensate nicely for the spare dimensions of the place.
To River it may as well be the Magic Kingdom. She’s just delighted to have a swath of soft carpet on which to frolic and a small desk for reading and coloring. I’m ever amazed at just how thoughtful and mature she is for a mere three years old. I just hope all of this moving isn’t eroding her sense of consistency and security, or that my anxiety over our poverty isn’t obvious to her. As far as I can tell, however, she’s brimming with joy.
Once all of the boxes are unpacked I’ll be setting out to take some editorial shots of the town, and getting back on the trails for more portraits of the “Last Green Valley,” as Eastern Connecticut is called. And thanks to a generous friend, I can now register for Microbiology at QVCC. (Thank you, Jessica!)
In the spirit of seeing the good, here’s a little poem I wrote some years ago. A little reminder that positivity isn’t believing all things are possible, but learning to acknowledge the things are.
That Dragonfly Painting In The Bathroom*
I stepped out of the shower and there it was;
Awful, that dragonfly painting on the wall
Fighting with the paisley wallpaper over who is tackier,
I curled my lip and raised an eyebrow thinking
How could any mother have such poor taste?
Dripping wet, I regarded the cruel vision once again
Marveling at the artist’s disregard for harmony
The childlike brush strokes, scribbles, scribbles!
Wishing I could toss out this quaint relic of the garish Sixties;
Dried off and dressed for the afternoon picnic.
Pulled back the curtain to a lapsed friendship,
There I was. Packing for the trip back home, I asked
May I take that dragonfly painting in the bathroom with me?
Outside in the neighbors driveway a boy flew his basketball at the hoop and missed;
picked it up and tried that third time.
A perfect shot!
* First Published in Eggshells & Entropy (Love Poems to Madness and Misanthropy), copyright (c) 2013.