driphoney
tittivator
- Joined
- Nov 10, 2008
- Posts
- 9,107
These days I hide out here with a humanities textbook by my side, unread. Yet my eye wanders to the window, my mind to the park ...
Do you like art? And just what do flowers have to do with your life? And what is your favorite color? Do you have one? And your season? Mine is spring. Always has been. I feel a not dissimilar feeling to the first stages of sexual arousal come to think of it. Odd. I mean, I'm not horny, but that catch in the breath, a small electric feeling over the body, excitement at seeing each stage of spring. Do you feel it, too, when seeing first the buds appear on the trees, a signal to keep watch: it's coming?
Then the fresh grass deepens in color, and now we must look out for the first flowers. These usually catch me by chance, especially here in Texas. The soil is weird, the Blackland Prairie it's called, the black clay is not a friend to many but the tough. Even so, here and there the odd crocus can be spotted, then the daffodils. They get a short life; heat can rear it's blazing head at a moments notice before running south again, hiding out for it's perfect timing. But who notices with the warmth on our faces and the pear trees starting their bloom? And all to quickly the snowy branches are half green; fleeting young love, cut short before we're ready. The deep fuchsia of the red bud saves us; we will still have color until the wildflowers bloom. Ahhh ...
and then it's here: bluebonnet time!
God's art.
No wonder paintings in a textbook seem so dull when real-life technicolor turns like a kaleidoscope through spring.
(yeah, my grammar sucks, this is just a thought, not a literary masterpiece. Just enjoy thinking about spring!)
Do you like art? And just what do flowers have to do with your life? And what is your favorite color? Do you have one? And your season? Mine is spring. Always has been. I feel a not dissimilar feeling to the first stages of sexual arousal come to think of it. Odd. I mean, I'm not horny, but that catch in the breath, a small electric feeling over the body, excitement at seeing each stage of spring. Do you feel it, too, when seeing first the buds appear on the trees, a signal to keep watch: it's coming?
Then the fresh grass deepens in color, and now we must look out for the first flowers. These usually catch me by chance, especially here in Texas. The soil is weird, the Blackland Prairie it's called, the black clay is not a friend to many but the tough. Even so, here and there the odd crocus can be spotted, then the daffodils. They get a short life; heat can rear it's blazing head at a moments notice before running south again, hiding out for it's perfect timing. But who notices with the warmth on our faces and the pear trees starting their bloom? And all to quickly the snowy branches are half green; fleeting young love, cut short before we're ready. The deep fuchsia of the red bud saves us; we will still have color until the wildflowers bloom. Ahhh ...
and then it's here: bluebonnet time!
God's art.
No wonder paintings in a textbook seem so dull when real-life technicolor turns like a kaleidoscope through spring.
(yeah, my grammar sucks, this is just a thought, not a literary masterpiece. Just enjoy thinking about spring!)
