there's dimitri, out at the mailboxes. he lives down the muddy part of the street, last house before the corrugated metal barrier. and mudville is lookin' like mudville a little today, as some of the frozen stuff gets to melting.
perhaps i've mentioned that i'm thinking of calling it mudville only when referring to its literal muddiness. to take away the "no joy in" connotation, which is kind of a reverse blessing, an invoking of the muse of misery, who's not a muse i muse is my first choice for whisperer in my ear.
there's bert, out at his mailbox. and here comes david, back down the street in his whole earmuff deal. humph & manuelo are watching them & the chickadees with me.
so as i was walking up the drive this afternoon, having been to the mailbox (with a little label in it with my last name, two other surnames, and "mudville"), i was trying to think of other possible nicknames for the homestead, as i do sometimes. "maud's little acre" amused me for a minute, but it's not the one.
bert's already back out of his place & around the corner with zach. there's caroline, down the way, getting home from work with a bag of groceries. i like her. she's in the choral union that'll be doing st. matthew's passion end of next week.
the hunk of ground designated as going with this house is sort of a triangular dealie. maybe there's some name thing in that. i have maples & pines & lilacs, and an ancient apple tree. and raspberry patches, and a mess of other stuff. it can get kind of overgrown, the way i keep it. and it does get muddy.
hell, maybe it's just mudville, in celebration of the part of me that is sometimes inspired to get out there, shortly after the mud's come, to take out some of the dead stuff, and tell a little bit of the rest of it how to be, and make it so. exert domestic dominion at the domicile. it's a major stumbling block for me to tune into that spirit in making my home here the way i want it to be, inside even more than out. if i ever manage to manage to do so at this place, fer real, on a roll, with whatever joie de vivre, esprit de corps & je ne sais quoi it'll take to do it in more than dribs & drabs, with heart, that there'll be some joy in mudville.
there's that beautiful fat female cardinal. the girl goldfinch flew away. as the cardinal eats, chomping away with her little orange-red beak, it looks as if she's talking to me.
and jimi lee's getting after her birdfeeders now.
still hard to believe i'll have these windows open again some day. if we live long enough, i told 'festo the other day. man, i bet he'll be, like, whoa, i remember this, i was just a little kid. or at least i'll be like that, looking at him.
the vicarious thing---it's a curse, and it's a blessing.