January 5: Football
Kristen Lindquist
post-season football
suddenly missing
green grass
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
Sign up on the Contact Me page
Filtering by Tag: grass
May 9: That point
Kristen Lindquist
Posted with BlogsyApril 27: Bryant Park
Kristen Lindquist
June 12: Green
Kristen Lindquist
April 30: More about the cat and spring
Kristen Lindquist
December 23: Cat grass
Kristen Lindquist
October 15: Grass
Kristen Lindquist
When I was a kid, going to the dump was a fascinating experience. This was back when the dump was really an open-air "dump," with everyone's trash spilling down giant, smelly mounds covered with squealing gulls. I didn't dare leave the safety of the car, but the swirling masses of gulls pulling at and fighting over various rubbish oddities certainly kept me distracted from the disgusting smell long enough for my parents to toss their trash.
Now all that's a landfill and transfer station, with big containers for recycling. While it's not as colorful as it used to be, it's not as gross, either. In fact, as I was waiting in the car this morning for my husband to empty our last bin of recyclables, I was captivated by a mound covered with tall, deep green grass. The grass rippled in waves in the brisk breeze, catching the sunlight, creating mesmerizing visual patterns. While I knew that underneath the grass moulder decades of trash, including that of my own family, what I could see there on the surface at least was beautiful.
Grass at the landfill--
our old trash feeding the roots,
rippling waves of blades.
Now all that's a landfill and transfer station, with big containers for recycling. While it's not as colorful as it used to be, it's not as gross, either. In fact, as I was waiting in the car this morning for my husband to empty our last bin of recyclables, I was captivated by a mound covered with tall, deep green grass. The grass rippled in waves in the brisk breeze, catching the sunlight, creating mesmerizing visual patterns. While I knew that underneath the grass moulder decades of trash, including that of my own family, what I could see there on the surface at least was beautiful.
Grass at the landfill--
our old trash feeding the roots,
rippling waves of blades.
April 11: Grass
Kristen Lindquist
This afternoon I returned home from my weekend on Vinalhaven and was shocked to see how unkempt--indeed, almost overgrown--my lawn looks. I don't think I'd raked the yard by this date last year. In fact, I don't even think the lawn was fully thawed by this date last year! But spring seems to have arrived early, and these past two bright days the blades of grass in our postage stamp-sized yard have clearly been sucking in the sunlight and photosynthesizing like crazy. Solar power rocks!
I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by all this. There were other signs. On a walk through moss-lush woods on Vinalhaven this morning, we came across a vernal pool that was already clotted with cloudy masses of frog's eggs. Driving home from the ferry, I was startled to see in Rockland a fully flowered pink magnolia. My neighbors' rhubarb is up. I've read reports that in some Maine streams alewives are already running. Mourning cloak butterflies have emerged. Less exciting but no less interesting from this seasonal perspective, I've heard the deer ticks are already awful (first quarter Lyme disease cases in Maine are higher than they've ever been), and black flies--whose only value is as bird fodder--have been observed in the local woods.
But back to my yard. I let most of my back yard grow free, since no one sees it and I enjoy the wildflowers. So the front yard gets all the attention. Tthat's where my main flower beds are, so I like it to look cared for, to fully showcase the poppies and peonies, the hostas and herbs. Also, as I type this, I'm watching the final day of the Masters. Those beautifully manicured golf greens taunt me with their perfection. Bottom line: I'm going to have to mow soon.
Spring's battle heats up:
green blades sprung from earth's scabbard
to face the mower.
I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by all this. There were other signs. On a walk through moss-lush woods on Vinalhaven this morning, we came across a vernal pool that was already clotted with cloudy masses of frog's eggs. Driving home from the ferry, I was startled to see in Rockland a fully flowered pink magnolia. My neighbors' rhubarb is up. I've read reports that in some Maine streams alewives are already running. Mourning cloak butterflies have emerged. Less exciting but no less interesting from this seasonal perspective, I've heard the deer ticks are already awful (first quarter Lyme disease cases in Maine are higher than they've ever been), and black flies--whose only value is as bird fodder--have been observed in the local woods.
But back to my yard. I let most of my back yard grow free, since no one sees it and I enjoy the wildflowers. So the front yard gets all the attention. Tthat's where my main flower beds are, so I like it to look cared for, to fully showcase the poppies and peonies, the hostas and herbs. Also, as I type this, I'm watching the final day of the Masters. Those beautifully manicured golf greens taunt me with their perfection. Bottom line: I'm going to have to mow soon.
Spring's battle heats up:
green blades sprung from earth's scabbard
to face the mower.