“The Fates find a way.”
– Virgil
Today is the 44th anniversary of our first date, a number that does not fail to gain one’s attention. Long ago, two much younger versions of ourselves transformed what could have been a day of utter dejection into our wellspring of loving companionship. Dana made venison chili while I toasted some blue corn, cheddar-jalapeno nachos. We opened a satisfying Cabernet made from “noble vines” and watched Spielberg’s West Side Story. Still sore from “checklist exercise” and yard activity, I’d done my best to neglect most of the daily duties so characteristic of March.
Today’s sight bite— The sprawling bush, shorn of last year’s tangle of outermost growth, —c-l-i-c-k— with thousands of tiny buds casting a mellow green tint across its bread-loaf shape.