It is something- it can be everything- to have found a fellow bird with whom you can sit among the rafters. A fellow bird whom you can look after and find bugs and seeds for; one who will patch your bruises and straighten your ruffled feathers and mourn over your hurts when you accidentally fly into something you can't handle.
-Wallace Stegner from The Spectator Bird
Thunder is booming over my head as I write this post. Lightening just flashed in the window. Everything is rattling. A torrential downpour is beginning. Batten down the hatches! Everyone take cover! RAIN has come to LA after a long long long dry 7 or 8 months. Okay, the part about the lightening I made up, but it could happen. Somewhere it could. Like Ohio maybe. And perhaps I exaggerate the magnitude of the torrents. But the cat posse is cowering. The smaller members. The big one goes about his business. In my way of course.
No matter, I'm breathing in lungfuls of rainy air. The french windows next to my desk are open wide and it's downright dark inside Moss Cottage. How thrilling and delightful! I will need to be told a bedtime story tonight. Preferably a scary one. That takes place in a little rowboat set afloat on a wild sea. Where rescue is uncertain.
In other news, I have been making collages on boxy 8 by 8 canvases. Canvases that have been sitting in my garage since my last brief, yet energetic commitment to an art cause. I do enjoy the causes. There is something so satisfying about cutting, gluing, sewing, rifling through the pages of my 1965 Pictorial Encyclopedia of Birds. On a rainy day. In the dead center of a wicked storm.
Full frontals of those collages tomorrow.
Brown Sugar bloomed this morning. Amid cool high winds of perhaps, at least…I'd say, probably like 40 mph, I dashed out in gown and slippers. Clip. Good thing. She would not have enjoyed a lashing of rain.