Overnight a strong northwesterly wind blew in and shooed the warm eastward. That's okay. It's just February so we've got at least a month more winter to deal with. I got the raspberries cut down, still not early enough, many of the canes were green and sprouting but I'm sure Durwood will have a bumper crop to pick, make jam with, and cackle over.
I'm a little disappointed with the Dems in our state government fleeing the state yesterday to avoid a fight about the budget bill. I'm not saying which side I'm on but I am saying that was a pretty chicken way to conduct themselves. Aren't mature adults supposed to fight for what they believe in, not run away? It's a thorny question.
February 17--Claude Monet, Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies. Water lilies again? The summer was in full force, the garden drowning in green and dragonflies stitched the lily pads together like a quilt. Old Money dragged himself down the path wearing his big brimmed hat and carrying his paints and brushes. His grandson, Luc carried his easel and canvas. Some days the first place Monet chose was satisfactory and Luc could set out the easel, fetch a chair from the garden shed, and go about his business until lunchtime. On other days they would traipse here and there, the old man finding fault with the light or the vista or even the angle that the breeze blew the reeds along the edge of the pond. Luc held his tongue and moved the easel from spot to spot, never once losing his patience and suggesting that his grandfather paint something, anything other than water lilies.
Oh, I do love Monet's water lilies paintings. They remind me of summer and bees buzzing and lazy afternoons. A nice mental picture on a chilly, windy day.
--Barbara
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