Insufficient

I would like to be able to paint sky such as I saw last night. I can't even draw, which is one of the reasons I was drawn to words. But my words can't describe that tumbled drift of variegated light and shade, or the satiny quality lent those clouds by the concealed moon. And yet paint could never capture the sound I heard while gazing at that sky-- a sound like blown sand brushing paper, which I knew to actually be the sprinklers irrigating the orchard at the end of the block. Music might paraphrase that sound, and less effectively the darkness in which it resided. Music might also paraphrase the sound of the air's movement turning the trees restless, and the shot-like report and trailing echo of an acorn hitting a rooftop. But neither paint nor music could convey the scent of damp wood and decaying vegetation and chilled earth which rose through the air, aspiring to that higher wind which twisted the clouds and sent them north, curled and billowed them hour after hour. No artifice could convey the look and sound and scent of last night, or the feel of the ephemeral air escaping. You had to be there.

Shade

The fruitless mulberry tree will probably have to be cut back this fall. It's pretty much a giant weed, and grows so rapidly that it needs to be pollarded about every five years lest its branches entangle the utility lines. Once they grow long enough, they tend to snap during heavy snows, so it's very unwise to allow them to extend above your power cable or telephone line. The disadvantage of pollarding, though, is that there will be almost no shade for this end of the house next summer. In fact, decent shade won't be fully reestablished until the third year. I've always wanted to replace that tree with something that reaches a decent size and then stays that way for decades, but I've never gotten around to it. I'll probably leave the place before I get around to it.

The shade of the tree is nice today. The air is pleasantly cool, but the direct sunlight is hot, and it's enjoyable to sit in the flickering, muted, green light under the tree and listen to the leaves rustling. An acorn woodpecker spent a few minutes hopping from branch to branch a while ago, snacking one or another small insect. There were quite a few acorn woodpeckers last spring, but they made themselves scarce this summer. They were probably sticking to the deeper woods, where there are no rooftops and pavements to intensify the heat. Now that the weather has cooled a bit, they are visiting the yard more often. Now that I think of it, the only avians who seemed to be more plentiful than usual this year were the hummingbirds. Of course, they've got their own built-in air conditioning.

The evening is so nice that I'd be foolish to spend any more time sitting here in front of a computer. I'm going back out to enjoy the tree, while it lasts.