I am beginning to think my computer controls the weather.
Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting in the pool nibbling at my lunch while "Chrysanthemum Tea" from Pacific Overtures thrummed in the background. And, right on cue, in the middle of the song, waves of wind blasted across the courtyard.
Blow, wind.
Great wind,
Great Kamikaze,
Wind of the gods.
And it did. For an hour or two, accompanied by the leaden skies that often portend major rain storms.
And rain it did. One of those downpours that look far more romantic on the big screen than trying to live life under one. I thought our rainy season had tapered off. At least, it washed the dust out of the patio.
What the wind did, though, was stir up what I had failed to do in the morning.
On Monday, we were talking about the four planters that anchor the corners of my court yard (new dawn). OK. I was talking about it.
Because they are filled with plants, and plants are living things, each morning there is a dusting of leaves and flowers that have sloughed off during the night. Especially, those yellow flowers on the vine at the bottom of the photograph. I still don't know their name.
My job is to gather them up before I have my breakfast. Otherwise, they either blow around or get wet and then stick to the patio floor.
I didn't do my duty yesterday morning. As a result, the wind had its way with my moral failing. The detritus of the plants was, well, not gone with the wind. Just everywhere with the wind.
For some reason, one of the most memorable comparative scenes from Ben Hur is the courtyard of the Hur home. In the first act, we are introduced to it as a veritable Rockwell painting in Palestine. Orderly. Luxurious. Peaceful.
When we next see the courtyard, in the second act, it is in utter disarray -- symbolic of what had happened to the Hur family. But the detail that struck me most in the second scene were the leaves.
Piled and blowing. Some set designer had had a home run idea. What better way to display such a great fall than blowing leaves?
Well, my house is far more like the house of Hur in the first scene. And I intend to keep it that way. I just need to get into the rhythm of being a homeowner.
I am putting away the last few files in my bedroom today. As soon as I get those piles tidied up, it will be time to start the tour of this house that is beginning to feel like I own it.
And rain it did. One of those downpours that look far more romantic on the big screen than trying to live life under one. I thought our rainy season had tapered off. At least, it washed the dust out of the patio.
What the wind did, though, was stir up what I had failed to do in the morning.
On Monday, we were talking about the four planters that anchor the corners of my court yard (new dawn). OK. I was talking about it.
Because they are filled with plants, and plants are living things, each morning there is a dusting of leaves and flowers that have sloughed off during the night. Especially, those yellow flowers on the vine at the bottom of the photograph. I still don't know their name.
My job is to gather them up before I have my breakfast. Otherwise, they either blow around or get wet and then stick to the patio floor.
I didn't do my duty yesterday morning. As a result, the wind had its way with my moral failing. The detritus of the plants was, well, not gone with the wind. Just everywhere with the wind.
For some reason, one of the most memorable comparative scenes from Ben Hur is the courtyard of the Hur home. In the first act, we are introduced to it as a veritable Rockwell painting in Palestine. Orderly. Luxurious. Peaceful.
When we next see the courtyard, in the second act, it is in utter disarray -- symbolic of what had happened to the Hur family. But the detail that struck me most in the second scene were the leaves.
Piled and blowing. Some set designer had had a home run idea. What better way to display such a great fall than blowing leaves?
Well, my house is far more like the house of Hur in the first scene. And I intend to keep it that way. I just need to get into the rhythm of being a homeowner.
I am putting away the last few files in my bedroom today. As soon as I get those piles tidied up, it will be time to start the tour of this house that is beginning to feel like I own it.
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