Woods full of birds as I sit on a rock watching the waterfall empty over the lip into the . . . can one say “mere”? Katesmere? The pool is the main feature of this place, where one gazes to find oneself, but which is never still.Memorial Day. Jeff S. graduated Saturday amidst pomp, circumstance, more boredom.
Were it not for the noise of the water, the woods would be full of birdsong. Only birds I can see, atop a dead tree and in the sunlight, very vivacious, appear to be goldfinches.
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Dark, bitter, rich coffee: I inhale its aroma, sip its complex nectar, here by the stream, tasting it as I never do in the everyday. Thinking how this one cup connects me to an entire world: the Middle East and north Africa, where it’s said goatherds discovered its potency when they saw their goats eat the berries and caper (charming myth); the European epicenter of old coffee-drinking rituals—the Austro-Hungarian empire; Latin America, where our coffee’s grown at such cost to so many, so I can sip this luxury in the Ozarks.
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Flowers today: Coreopsis lanceolata, Rudbeckia hirta, Potentilla simplex (or is it Oenothera biennis?), Erigeron prunus, Baptisia leucophaea (moving to the end of its bloom), and two I can’t identify—Sphenoclea zeylandica and some kind of penstemon?
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