It’s been a chill and blustery few days here in Somewheresville. The temperature has rarely risen above 20* F and the wind has been blowing which drops us down into the low single digits at best. But winter is almost over, according to the Rodentia Pennsylvania ( Hah! Right!), and by the end of March we should be sitting pretty. What we need is snow and rain. It is much too dry and the water table is already low. This does not bode well for the farmers. I have several tasks for March, however, all of which I am looking forward to completing.
I am going to plant my tomatoes inside this year and then transplant them in June when I return from Greece. This way I can grow what I want and not be stuck with the varietals that no one else bought, like last year. That’s not to say that my tomatoes weren’t wonderful and that I harvested until October, but still, I want to try this and see how I fair. I’m also going to grow a thing called a ‘Lemon Cucumber’. It’s round, like an apple, yellowish, like a lemon, but a cuke nonetheless. I’ll start those indoors as well. The basil and herbs I’ll plant in June when I come home. No hurry for those things. I am planting one squash product, no zucchini this year. The one I’m planting is more of a spaghetti squash type, that should be harvestable until the beginning of November, if I’m lucky.
This morning I’m off to a clock repairman who works on antique clocks. We have an old carriage clock that my mother bought in 1964, at auction, in Dublin, for the equivalent of $10.00. I know it’s worth more than that, but it stopped running a while back an no one seems to be able to fix it. I’m hoping this guy can do it. Then I scoot up to have my head worked on with a little NeuroCybernetics. I’ve written about this before so I won’t go into it. Google it and find out more, if you want.
Well, here are the haiku, hot off the press. As promised there are six, to make up for last week. Actually three I have grouped together as one piece, the rest are free-standing…
#13.
A bitter winter,
dry, gray dust on the windows,
blown under the door.
#14.
Windy, gusting, chill.
But piercing sunlight reaches
to the forest floor.
#15.
Old leaves crunching
underfoot like cereal
chewed up in my mouth.
#16-18.
Sometimes my fear boils
and runs out the metal spout
spilling on the stove.
It boils and troubles,
like fear does, and wants to burn
but it’s only water.
Fear evaporates
in hisses, cursing with steam,
in a cup of tea.
Johnnyboy
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