I went out for a walk around the garden to see how plants are coping with the heat of the past few days. Yesterday when I went into the greenhouse to repot the little almond tree, growing from a seed I brought back from the Coa Valley in Portugal in November, I was surprised at the door by a lizard skittering into the stones that fill in a gap along the southern wall. And then later, I almost stepped on a young black and yellow snake, taking shelter under a low bench. There are tree frogs in the greenhouse too. Sometimes when I move a tray of beans or tomato seedlings, one will leap from the soil. There’s a small tub of water under the potting bench with a pot of corkscrew rush growing in it and the frogs like to cool off under the duck weed. Once, when I was pulling a pot of lettuce out from under the bench, a little frog landed on my wrist and stayed there.
And it seems there’s another mouse in the greenhouse. Look at that bean leaf! Two others have been eaten back to the stem. I’ve seen the cat walk by and sniff at the doorway but he doesn’t go in, which is probably a good thing for the frogs and now the reptiles who’ve discovered the warm pavers, the stones, the woodbugs under the saucers.
A walk around the garden, the scent of wisteria filling the air. It’s cooler this morning and I’m wondering if I’ll swim in a wetsuit or not. Yesterday I began my swim in neoprene and stopped partway through to pull it off and finish in my bathing suit. Normally the lake would be too cold for me to swim for long this time of year, though most years I begin with a short plunge in early May, working up to a full swim (around a km.) by the end of May. This year? The wetsuit made it possible to begin 3 weeks ago (and if I’d bought the suit sooner, I could have begun earlier!) but I didn’t know it would suddenly become so warm that the lake temperature would rise enough for me to do a longer swim on May 5. A single swallow was dipping over the water and I could hear ravens talking the trees. Klook, klook. And you too. And you.
Last night I dreamed I had three long tables to set on the west-facing deck. I found tablecloths, jugs to fill with lilac for the centres, and was counting silver cutlery in my mind, wondering if I’d have enough. 8 at one table, 6 at another, 10 at the 3rd. Who was coming to eat under the wisteria and what would I feed them on a warm spring evening? I counted plates: 15 of the Italian ones painted with grapes and figs, 8 of John’s mother’s blue willows, and the remaining Wedgwood Moon from the ones we chose for ourselves, buying a few in Bath in 1979 and receiving others as gifts, a stack of which John dropped years ago while clearing the table. Most of them broke but we still have 4. (There’s also a few old blue onion plates left from our camping days and a few others accumulated one way or another.) So in my dream, I had enough. Plates, cutlery, mismatched wine glasses polished with a linen cloth, and napkins at each setting. What was the occasion? I have no idea. But the wisteria in the dream smelled like heaven and this morning it smelled the same and it turns out there’s room for everyone to sit underneath and laugh. And who would they be?
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond. (Rumi, trans. Coleman Barks)
