Moody

So rain came-- soft, slow, spring rain of the sort that lures me into nostalgia which then devours hours as though they were minutes. I begin by wondering where one thing or another from the past has gone, and emerge from this indulgent reverie wondering where the night has gone. I sent messages to people I haven't heard from in decades, about things I'd nearly forgotten until the sound of rain dissolved some blockage in my memory and they washed up into consciousness. I used to get fits of nostalgia most frequently in autumn, but in recent years early spring has become more apt to induce them. Maybe the subtle scents of growing things suggests to my subconscious those times when almost all I knew was new and growing and I had little past. Or maybe, now that my past is much larger, it is turning to mental mulch and trying to grow something new in the appropriate season. These are peculiar flowers, though, that blossom in long-vanished fields and have the shapes of faces never to be seen again. I pluck them and arrange them and know that they will soon turn to dust as they have done before. Of dust itself, there's never an end.

Still Wet

The kitty has had enough of the rain, and is bouncing off the walls because she can't go out and expend her energy climbing trees and such. Aside from dealing with this annoying consequence, I'm still enjoying the rain. After all those cold storms, this mild one is pleasant. Even the birds enjoyed it, and there was much delighted chirping in the yard today as small flocks pecked about on the lawn. That might be one of the things that ticked the cat off. Birds are water-resistant and cats aren't. Unfair!

Unfortunately, I'm now into the third day of another battle with ants. I've scrubbed every surface in the kitchen repeatedly, no food is left outside ant-proof containers, and still they invade. This morning, a swarm of them were crawling around inside the microwave oven (the door had been left ajar.) I was tempted to just turn it on and see if the ants exploded, but decided that this would be just a bit sadistic, so I merely mashed them as usual and towelled away the pungent little cadavers. Inevitably, when eradicating ants, a few escape onto my clothing and will later reveal themselves when they crawl onto my skin. I end up slapping myself and then smelling of formic acid. Annoying. Enjoy the rain, hate the ants.