Seasons collide

Where can you close your eyes and hear a pig, horse, calf, goat, wind chime, priest and a band making music noise?

Sitting on my yard patio, feet up, under the umbrella. That’s where.

frondIt’s been too chilly of late to sit out there, even at midday, but it was different yesterday. It was nice, neither hot nor cold, but just right. Like the baby bear’s porridge.

The animals are the neighbors’. The wind chime is mine. The priest was droning Mass from a block away while the little band of musicians stood outside the church door, blowing racket and swilling beer.

Offending the Virgin.

There was a breeze, and occasionally I heard birds brawling in their water bowl just a few feet behind me. Why can’t they just all get along?

The sensation was that the seasons were colliding. Spring was stepping in the front door while Winter snuck out the rear window.

* * * *

(Note: It was only after writing this item yesterday that I noticed that today is the first day of Spring, just another example of the ongoing serendipity sailing through our existence.)

7 thoughts on “Seasons collide”

  1. It is through cacophony that we appreciate solitude. It is through chaos that we appreciate order.

    If this blog gig goes sideways, I can always write fortunes for Chinese cookies.

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  2. What’s wrong with Francis? I knew a great trumpet boy in high school who bore that name proudly. Besides, his given name, Jorge, is endemic in Honduras. In my neck of the woods, everyone or his brother is named Jorge or Jorgito. I know personally 3 pastors named Jorge. And I have three more friends named Jorge: an electrician, a teacher, and a student.

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    1. Laurie: What’s wrong with Francis? For a man? It’s downright dorky, is what, as I pointed out in the, uh, previous post.

      And I’m not sure what Jorge (George) has to do with this. Jorge would have been a better name for, uh, Francis. That’s for sure. Pope George. I like it.

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