Grow flowers

Years ago, after I first started to make a bit of money, I used to go to
the local garden center every fall and purchase fifty-two daffodil bulbs.
Shortly thereafter, I would then go into my parents' backyard with a deck
of fifty-two wax-coated playing cards and hurl the cards across the lawn.
Wherever a card fell, I would plant one of the bulbs. Of course, I could
have just tossed the bulbs themselves, but the point of the matter is, I
didn't. Planting bulbs this way creates a very natural spray effect—
the same silent algo- rithms that dictate the

torque in a flock of spar- rows or the gnarl of a

piece of driftwood also dictate success in this

formal matter, too. And come spring, after the

daffodils and the narcissi have spoken their deli-

cate little haikus to the world and spilled their

cold, gentle scent, their crinkly beige onion pa

per remnants inform us that summer will soon be here and that it is now time to mow the lawn. Nothing very very good and nothing very very bad ever lasts for very very long. HI wake up and it's maybe 5:30 or so in the morning. The three of us are sprawled on top of the bed where we fell asleep. The dogs snooze on the floor next to the near-dead embers. Outside there is only a hint of light, the breathlessness of oleanders and no cooing of doves. I smell the warm carbon dioxide smell of sleep and

enclosure. HThese creatures here in this room with me—these are the creatures I love and who love me. Together I feel like we are a strange and forbidden garden—I feel so happy I could die. If I could have it thus, I would like this moment to continue forever. I go back to sleep.

Дата добавления: 2014-12-23