Swathed in many layers of pajamas, nightgown, sweater, housecoat socks and slippers, I surfaced from my sickbed late this afternoon, shivering with fever and thirsty for some hot lemon juice with honey. I had fallen asleep earlier while reading about twelve pages of Isaiah Berlin’s “The Roots of Romanticism”. Unfortunately found the book, with it’s paper cover bent, which may bring on the ire of the disapproving librarian who will have to process this book on its due-date return. Maybe I should just offer to buy it, as it is a book that would require further revisitings, and I would use well over time? It needs one to have a clear head and an ability to concentrate in order to be fruitful to a reader, however I shall persevere, gladly as energy allows.
Gazed out the kitchen window while preparing the lemon concoction and admired the skeleton of the apple tree planted out front. Checked the potted plants inside the house to see if they needed moisture, wandering around, and then poked my nose out the back door to look over the sunny patio. In one corner here, one which receives good shade during the heat of Summer, there is a large black nursery pot housing a Helleborus Niger. It has come into spectacular bloom, despite being weighted down by a heavy cap of snow during the snows of December and January. It is my calendar plant for Winter months, its progressive increment of snow-white nodding blossoms marks the passing of the cold season. In its 4th year it is a faithful and dependable harbinger of seasonal change. In the height of Summer it has handsome rubbery greenery.
The moles have been busy in the lawn, their little hummocks add texture and pattern to its rigid rectangle. It seems they have taken up permanent residency here. Maybe in the manner of “Rumpole’s” English and Scottish ancestors, I should append a name to this suburban “estate”(otherwise known as a standard suburban plot). Perhaps “Mole Haven”? Has a certain catchy ring to it! Maybe I should succumb to a pretentious urge to make a sign for my studio, as in “Molehaven Studio”. (Several artists here in Pleasantville advertise their presence in the community with painted wooden signs!)
Nope, it’s too much trouble, and I can’t be bothered, but it’s fun to tease the notion out and around!