The wind is running its fingertips under the clapboard. Tremors and snow. The last storm of the season. A coughing fit. It's going to rough travel tomorrow. I woke up and have started to putter.Not a good idea. My youngest son is sleeping on the couch with all the lights burning. He just returned from a weekend of playing rugby in Virginia Beach. He must be exhausted.
Today is my mother's birthday. If she were still alive, she would be 99. I wonder what she would think of all the changes, in the world, in our family? I always associated her birthday with spring and bouquets of daffodils. Yellow everywhere. The cold rain yesterday left the crocuses flat. Their tissue petals look like drips of purple and yellow paint on the ground. Now snow. I told the second graders about the crocuses. The blooms are literally outside their school and not one of them saw the sad little blotches in the flowerbeds. What does that mean?
On the weekend I was driving the parkway, past ponds and marshes and saw a Canada goose with a Mute Swan swimming together, behaving as a couple. I wondered if there was inter-breeding with these two species, and sure enough my sister said she saw a Swan with Canada goose wings recently. What would we call this new bird? Can-Mute Swan or Mute Goose, Nada Swan? Hmm.