The ticking of the clock is another gift, the sound soft and muted. It is a small white battery operated clock, I have had it for years, analog, I always buy analog, always buy battery operated, always buy small and always buy white; I am not a clock person and think time should just linger in the background, just a subtle reminder. I once knew a woman who owned a digital clock that projected the time in large bright green numbers onto her bedroom ceiling and I was, I admit, quite horrified, could not (and cannot) imagine seeing those horrible numbers staring down at me each time I awakened in the night.
The overcast day awaits, this barely-there clock ticking the minutes away. The curbs are filled with yellow pollen and wisteria blossoms, that wisteria hanging heavy in the humidity, and the azaleas are blooming at last. The yellow climbing roses across the street have climbed into a tree and are making their way quickly up its branches; no one has stopped them and I assume this means we will have a rose tree next spring.
And there are blue bees in Katie's house.
The neighborhood enchantment.
i'll be back