Tuesday, 4 April 2017 – 10:31am
The cherry trees outside my window look very pretty with the sun shining through their delicate pink blossoms; everything from pale pink to deep rose. The long webbed shadows of their branches stretch along the street – branch tips gently draped over the base of each successive tree. Pink petals cascade from the canopies and whirl about in the air like flurries of butterflies, settling on the ground below in speckled patterns and painting the dark, still damp road in pastel shades of cherry snow.
It isn’t raining anymore and the day looks to be promisingly warm. The light outside is unusually spectacular, though it will be brief as the sun journeys round, and as the passing cotton wool clouds permit.
The Stars and Stripes hanging from a third floor balcony flutter nonchalantly in the gentle breeze from across the street, just visible through the tangle of branches layering the stretch between our line of apartments and the apartments opposite. The red flash of a Cardinal darts across my view, a sure sign that Spring has sprung. Carpenter bees have already begun their annual attempt at entering the apartment windows with their loud and abrasive buzzing, and the odd tap as they bounce off the glass.
The alternating pattern of the cars parked across the street contrast starkly against the trees, their bar code uniformity contravening the complex yet delicate forms of the nature enveloping them. Like finding a kid’s plastic toy in a bird’s nest, ill-matched yet subversively artful.
Huge shadows cast by the clouds sail across the street below heading north-east at a fair clip, turning everything from dark to luminous again in quick succession. The light is already beginning to change, though as the morning progresses it remains quiet and peaceful, except for the chirp of the birds outside, the rasp of rubber against tarmac of passing vehicles, and the gentle hiss of the air conditioning wafting through the vent above me. No community parks services hacking at the trees, blowing non-existent leaves, mulching, mowing or landscaping. No insufferable neighbours sending their subsonic party tunes through the floors and walls of the building. Not today. Thankfully. Just the gentle, unadulterated nature of the day to remind me that there are still moments to be relished, not interfered with by the belligerence of other people unwittingly seeking my attention.
It’s been a peaceful day, despite the encroachment of tornado skies for a while, silver to charcoal grey with tell-tale spiralled wisps forming beneath them like peaks of meringue on top of a pie turned upside-down.
Friday, 7 April 2017 — 10:35am
The Park’s Services are back in their fluorescent orange jackets trying to tame the street outside my window again. Doing whatever it is they need to do so much of and with such urgency and diligence. At least they’ve started slightly later than usual. Often it’s around 7:30 in the morning. But I’m worse for wear this morning, having spent the night in dreamland with an English catholic priest somewhere in some ex-pat community in the south of Italy, and having been chosen to perform a one-woman fashion show parading in granny underwear, despite not having quite enough body to put in it!
My dreams are a strange landscape, and I’m pleased to be back on terra firma, though not to the fanfare of leaf-blowers, strimmers, lawn hoovers, and other such contraptions these people seem fit to parade about with in my peripheral vision, and assault my ears and brain with.
The silvery skies today certainly reflect my mood. The cherry blossoms have all but been dusted off of the trees along the street due to the heavy rain and hail yesterday. The storms have subsided for now, but the threat of more rain to come is latent within the argent roof above the once again barren looking trees.
A trip to the post-office this morning to attempt to re-deliver a package that I thought we’d sent two days ago already, returned due to lack of sufficient postage as printed by an obviously defective machine. Personally I think it’s revenge for having put it in the wrong bin, all for adding two seconds extra work to a disgruntled postal worker’s routine. Hypocrisy is a beast.