Up the hill at the entrance to my mom’s driveway, there is an orchard of olive trees. She says they’ve never borne fruit and have never been harvested. I’m not sure how this works – did they plant the trees and forget about them? Are olive trees really slow to get around to being fruit-bearing?
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Day: March 24, 2019
Caveat: Poem #966 “The parrot”
A parrot made a noise, there, leaping - I tilted head and looked across - it flashed some green and red, in keeping with brightish rainbow moods; the moss, affixed to stones below and gazing up greenly at the raucous praising that spilled out happy birdish squawks, undisciplined, unlike the rocks, whose gentle, calm enunciations could only offer echoes, cold. The bird was hopping upward, bold, and tracing out complex relations that flowers sketched against the sky, that raindrops tapped as clouds went by.
– some kind of sonnet
