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SNOWGLOBE

Wanting to get some summer sun on the light-starved areas of the vegetable garden (where otherwise nothing will grow much beyond scionhood) what torture it was in a certain place in the soul to prune the cherry tree, to choose this morning which of those superbly graceful limbs to lop off-- with the tiny, barely pinkening buds still on, long slender limbs already swelling with thoughts of spring-- the anguish at this cost of having to eat, and wanting to grow my own, oh, spirit of the cherry tree I hope you understand the needs of we merely footed creatures, what savages we have to be at times, and may your lost limbs blossom richly in another heaven throughout your days (as far across the field truckloads of trees come down the mountain...). I also had the temerity to climb on high in the snowflaked atmosphere and sway in the wind as I pruned the mighty oak, just one of whose noble limbs would otherwise bring summernoon darkness upon my heirloom tomatoes; and those beautifully golden-grained limbs I inoculated at once with shiitake and many thanks, may they thrive in their new goldenness!!!
The past few days the weather hasn't been sure what it wants to be when it grows up; now and then it will billow down from the mountain in pillowy clouds of snowstorm, reaching in its softly tendriled whiteness to envelope the house in a swirl like a shaken snowglobe that is then set down, the sun soon bright and warming in a pure blue sky like it wants to be Los Angeles around here.