I ran for my life, frightened and out of breath, but not sure if I could risk stopping. Maybe he was bluffing? I slowed and turned my head. Thud-Donk! That's supposed to be the sound a possum long dead makes when someone running after you throws it and it hits the ground.
thud-donk.
"You have to get that thing out of the pond," I told him.
"I don't want to. I don't even want to see it. I wish you girls would've got it out while I was at work." (I bet!) I walked him down the trail and pointed. He'd brought a big plastic bag and some gloves. The beast had been there a few days, bulging eyes, fly ridden, patches of hair off in clumps. He started to raise it by the tail.
"I'm going to need you to hold the bag open while I put this in there."
"No, no, I can't do that. I don't want to be that close."
"You have to," he tells me. I say that we should just think about it, and that I have to go in for something. Maybe somebody else wants to hold the bag? Knowing my Steven, there's a chance he'd see humour in grazing my arm with it's sticky possum body whilest I am holding the bag. I opt out.
"No you don't!" and as I start to walk away, he tells me he's going to throw it on me, so I run. I run, and I can hear him running behind me. Surely he wouldn't? I run, then out of breath, I look back to see it fly close.
Thud-donk. You're lucky I didn't try to get you with it, he tells me. It was so tight it would've splattered across your back. The can could stay at the end of the road, as well as the bills. For today.
I was loading rocks to move under the fig tree & found a fossil (I guess).
I forfeited throwing in the wagon, staring at the thing. Porous and round, I imagined it a femur of some sort of long ago animal, and stuck it in my pocket. Maybe a cow bone, but maybe something exotic and undiscovered. Because there's no hurt in having an imagination, maybe a unicorn. I think if you discover a new species you get to name it. So above is the first photo of the remains of a unicorn, the Katleecorn. Or um, Katleecornysaurus. Of course, I can't prove it, but you can't prove it's not. I welcome you to try, but til then, Katleecornysaurus.
On Facebook recently I saw friends join a group called Unicorns are real, they're just fat and slow and we call them rhinocerous. Funny. I imagine that mythical creatures were once real. Dinosaurs were real, so maybe dragons were once real. Who knows.
I also passed this grass stuff -
I don't know what it's called; it grows everywhere. My mother told me when she was a girl, my grandmother Georgette told her to eat the little leaves when she was thirsty on long walks. So it grows in France as well. We all eat it as we walk past, and it tastes like the sour peel of a green apple. Yum.How did you get here?
Hmm. So next month the roses will be blooming & you can expect I'll be posting garden photos. I can't wait, though it's may seem like an occasion where I should have a separate blog. I collect roses, and at times, I feel I'm contributing in some weird way to the continuation of their dwindling species. I grow no Hybrid Teas (okay, one- Senegal) because I find them ugly, and no knockouts, because they are 'mall roses' and belong only in public areas or in stepford wives effortless yards. Okay, I find them ugly too. Don't get angry if you happen to grow one of these. Some folks don't know any better. But the mass sales and marketing of Knock Out roses puts some great vintage roses at risk of becoming scarce. Roses that have been around for hundreds of years, that honestly can out perform any knock out and do it with throwback style are harder to find. Nurseries are going out of business, and the ones that are doing well are selling you more and more bad stereotypical roses- in some cases how can you not hate roses?
But there are treasures, and I am humbled to serve them in any way I can.
If you'd like more information on roses, try HelpMeFind.com, click the roses tab.
Also, stay tuned for some photos of favorites, coming soon.
I hope your day is blissfully cool & peaceful. :)
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