Photo by S. Auberle
Today is Rachmaninoff's birthday and also, as Ma Nature has clearly shown, April Fool's day.
The lion of March has exited with torrential, icy rain and wind, now snow for this first morning of April.
Pinks and yellows, purple, tender greens weave through my mental landscape.
Poetry frolics through the new grass of my mind. (April is National Poetry Month.)
I want to visit England--the hillsides of Wordsworth's daffodils, the new lambs gamboling in the fields.
Reality--I walk the icy beaches, fight my way through unyielding, dried grasses taller than me. Step on old fish bones in the shape of butterfly wings. Out onto bay ice, tentatively, where there are patches of muted green and white in the texture and colors of finest marble. Admire the tundra-like landscape, the calligraphy of old weeds curved in frozen snow.
Reality and Dream...always the whispering angels on my shoulders...