Friday, March 26, 2010
mystery, scent, puppy
Like the moon, but light as bone, neat as a nut, it rises in the grass.
In Calverley Ground, I pass the long, yellow flower spikes and the spiny leaves of Mahonia japonica, without paying particular attention to it, until its scent wafts towards me in the humid wind. Then I see the bees which are there before me, busy as ... well , bees.
Almost certainly, they are bumble bees, which tend to be up and about early in the year.
A puppy, probably a King Charles Spaniel, in a pink jacket at the end of a lead entangles itself with other pedestrians. Its owner, a plump girl, says " sorry, sorry... sorry" as she weaves her own way in the creature's wake. But she isn't sorry at all. She is too proud of the little bundle with its prodding nose and padding feet. "Yes, isn't he," she says even before people have had chance to comment. It takes her long time to make any progress, as she has to stop every few yards to agree on how sweet he is, and to say how old he is, and what he called, and ...