Fragment #104 – 22 February 2015

Outside a window, 22 February 2015

Outside the grass is very long, at least up to my ankle, and the weeds are higher than my knee.  Most of the weeds are those clumped patches of thick shallot-like stalks that end in rows of yellow and green seeds with black dots at the tip.

The clothesline has a blue sheet and several dark blue towels on it.  About half are pegged.  All have been rained on at least twice today, and should probably be rewashed, though it is unlikely that this will occur.  The line underneath the tree branches have rust on them, and the rest do not.

I can hear birds.  Sometimes they congregate on the line and call to one another.  I do not know the names of the birds.  They have white breasts and dark brown backs, and their beaks are yellow.  They are small, and they fly in packs of three or four.  And I suppose they should be called flocks, not packs.

Beyond the wire fence lies a cacophony of weeds, plants, trees.  I have been told that one of the trees is camphor, which is a weed, and also that we have bamboo which is difficult to fully eradicate when mature.  Almost fully covered with foliage is a set of painted white steps which lead to a level area that could, one day, provide a fine setting for a table and chairs from which to read and enjoy the cool breeze.

The fence on the right is high and sturdy.  There is one gap, where the rising ground has eroded somewhat, but the previous owner put a grate there to stop his dog from escaping. My dog is small and would likely be able to wriggle through the hole, but it is too high for him to climb to.  I hope.

On the left are pot plants, a planter box, and a square wooden platform of dubious stability.  The plants are growing well, particularly the oregano and the tomato.  Underneath the wooden platform is soft when you step on it.

I write all of this with my back to the window, remembering.  A dog barks, and it isn’t mine.  The birds are there – I can hear them.  The trees sway in the wind and the leaves rustle.  It is cold.

* * *

The above piece of writing comprises part of my fragments project, some of which are available on this website.  I intend to add new fragments piecemeal, not in any particular order, and as the occasion take me.

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