Thursday, June 10, 2010

opening, sport, dripping

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There  is a Jack Russell, which I often see chasing a ball in The Grove. Its owner (owner is the wrong word because in some senses the dog seems to own the man who throws the ball), throws the ball far and vigorously and the dog bounds after it and reaches the point where it lands almost at the same time. Either on the next bounce or the one after it, the dog catches the ball in mid-air. Today the Jack Russell brings the ball back to find his man talking to another man. The stranger has a dog on a lead. The led dog, a bit of Alsatian in it and quite a lot of something else, is a bit of a rogue and looks it. The Jack Russell, ignored for a moment, shows the ball to the led dog, then puts it down as a sort of challenge. The led dog advances on the ball and the Jack Russell snaps at its nose, whereupon it lets out a yelp. This is the signal for the led dog's man to lead it off, which was perhaps at the back of the Jack Russell's mind. I compliment the Jack Russell's man in the dog's sporting prowess. " A good fielder! " I say. I am referring to cricket, but the man thinks I am talking about hunting. He has an American accent so I suppose that he knows as little about cricket as I do about the sort of hunting to which he thinks that I am referring.

During and after the rain the garden drips. Drops hang from leaves and petals, fall, slide down stems and trunks, shine like beads . The scents of oils and resins rise from the vegetation. A mist  composed of all these vapours hangs over the garden. If your listen your can hear it pushing against the leaves and flowers accompanied by the soft drumming of  the drops.

1 comment:

The Crow said...