April Grays

 

Yes, April can be like this; here's proof.

White flecks of snow fell this morning, rectangular, widely spaced.

I began the day with a walking tour of a neighborhood in  Queens,

complete with pictures,

courtesy of a friend who sent me a link this morning.

Minor chores are done, though the jeans coming out of the dryer weren't really dry.

A few games of computer cribbage before turning to books.

Any books.

I ask myself, after studying a map in a book about Mencius,

why the Chinese named their kingdoms Chou, Chin, Ch'in, Ch'u, Ch'i, and Cheng.

They could have done better.

Then it's on to Gilbert White's Selborne County, where he describes

a remarkable spring that, during a drought, continued to produce

nine gallons of water per minute. He then calculates, for our benefit,

an output of two-hundred sixteen hogsheads per day. Well done.

Lunch consists of a sliver of onion pie—one of my specialties—

consumed cold, standing next to the fridge.

After bringing in the garbage can from the street,

I decide to make a fire, using a huge log that's been

sitting behind the yard-waste can all winter.

I know it won't burn, but by sliding kindling under it,

I create the illusion again and again.