I am one of those people that find weather interesting, and beautiful. Today featured the kind of weather that I find interesting, and beautiful.
A different kind of snail, cruising a papaya on one of the trees in front.
Bursera grandifolia, flowering.
Tonight we came home from a friendly visit to Lynn and Ariel’s house, where our collective offspring watched the execrable “Kid’s Choice Awards” (pronounced a bummer by both of my kids) on Nickelodeon. I went into the back to shut off the hose (from filling up our $250 above-ground swimming pool), and noticed these two having sex on the concrete slab next to the faucet:
When I first arrived on scene, they were completely mashed together. This may have been the aftermath, no doubt involving straightening clothes and promises to call.
Sunrise
A morning walk:
One of my babies, being photogenic…repeatedly
Euphorbia viguerii, making babies…lots of babies.
As always, with multiple observers while relaxing on the bench in the succulent bed.
And tiny flowers on my mexican Bursera grandifolia make my day:
Yesterday it rained a tremendous amount, especially for March, and this morning some plants showed evidence of sap flowing in abundance. I have several trees that make gum, and this one, Cochlospermum gillivraei, was making some:
That camera-wielding psycho and professional insomniac from 55°N (N55°02′42″), Sid Smith, has come up with another bunch of fantastically moody pre-sunrise shots of The North Sea, and I feel compelled to respond. From the warm subtropics, 7:05 a.m.:
Fittingly enough, while (once again, Praise Be) thoroughly enjoying Trout Mask Replica, in fact Pachuco Cadaver, this passed my desk on it’s way to wholesale merchandise wonderland:
In case you missed the important concept…
“When she walks flowers surround her
Let their nectar come into the air around her
She loves her love sticks out like stars
Her lovin’ sticks out like stars”
-Pachuco Cadaver
(The last two lines the best couplet ever written about a woman’s nipples.)
I drove past Borders Books and Music in Fort Lauderdale this past weekend, and was struck with a burst of sadness as I remembered seeing Ian play there before embarking on a Blues Cruise.
What made me think of this? Count Basie’s “April In Paris” is swinging forth from the monitors, the mellifluous saxes are vibrating their way into history, and the trombone is hitting sweet, warm heavenly tones. Even the brass is creamy…
Susan and I filled out this weekend, and mailed in on Monday, our voter registration forms requesting a change of party affiliation from Democrat to “No Party Affiliation”. Susan voted for Obama, I voted for Clinton in the primary. We have both had enough. The vote is as close to sacred as the political process gets, and when “authorities” decide that your vote is not going to count, or is going to count half, they can take their donkey and stick it in their ass.
I have been a registered, voting Dem since 1983.
I have noticed that whenever I work in the yard, there are always, always, observers of my activity. Long of tail and short of limb, any time I stop I can spot them, watching, maybe thinking in their lizard way, “what’s he going to do now?”
Today I came under attack while out back, from Henry and his friend Grayson:
