Thirty-One: Week Forty-Six
Days three hundred and sixteen through three hundred and twenty-two
Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them here.
Day Three Hundred and Sixteen (March 7th) I’ve been seeing Nanday parakeets around town lately. They’re mostly green but have gorgeous black hoods and beautiful emerald-blue feathers on the tips of their wings and tails. They came to the States from South America in the pet trade during the 1960s. Like many other naturalized species in Florida, some escaped captivity and exploded into large wild populations. They’ve been here for decades, but I never really noticed them before. Maybe I just notice more birds in general these days. There’s a joy that comes from slowing down and observing your surroundings, of rooting yourself wherever you are. Day Three Hundred and Seventeen (March 8th) There’s a brief period of time when the oak trees turn lime green. Pollen forms on the branches, vivid and impossible to ignore. Eventually, it dries and turns a darker yellow, falling from the trees and coating everything in its golden powder. But, for a moment, the bright promise of spring shouts its return. Day Three Hundred and Eighteen (March 9th) Green is everywhere. Parakeets and fresh oak pollen splash lime across the sky, while neon oak leafrollers hang from silk strands, dangling like string lights at night. New life explodes all around in chartreuse exuberance. Spring unfolds in untold shades. Day Three Hundred and Nineteen (March 10th) Speaking of oak leafrollers, I found one on my shoulder recently. In my haste to remove it, I squished its fragile body. Today, I felt another one in my hair while driving with the sunroof open. I accidentally flicked it over to the passenger side window, but it survived the journey! I’m one for two on gently removing errant leafrollers this spring—plenty of time to beef up those stats. Day Three Hundred and Twenty (March 11th) Even the pool has turned green now, although not because of algae. All the fallen yellow pollen has leeched color into the water, steeping like a giant cup of tea. That yellow water reflects the blue of the pool surface and sends it back into the world as green as everything else. Day Three Hundred and Twenty-One (March 12th) The sun carves a sharp line through the middle of the building, slicing the wall into two distinct halves. Bright and dark. Light and shadow. The entire universe exists on a stretch of empty plaster. Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Two (March 13th) I picked my dad up from the airport tonight. Now that he’s retired, he travels a lot. When he’s gone, I’m thankful to have the house to myself. I don’t know if it’s because I’m alone or because I merely enjoy leaving the bathroom door open when I pee. In any case, it’s a pleasant solitude. I always miss my dad, though. I’m glad to have him home again.
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