I keep getting distracted from composing this post by the wild spring party outside my window. For a week now the red admiral butterflies have been playing beach volleyball in wet t-shirts in the soapberry tree. Cedar waxwings have fought for the karaoke mike. Monarchs, swallowtails put in celebrity appearances, and a new stubby-tailed anole thinks he is the bouncer.
|It's all just so 1974!|
The soapberry blossoms have a scent one would not call "subtle". It is like Boone's Farm Apple Wine mixed with Clairol Herbal Essence shampoo. Seems odd that it is "natural".
Maybe Mother Nature has been yarn-bombing and joining Zumba flash mobs.
|Six-spotted green tiger beetle|
People are even wearing platform shoes again, but I haven't seen any Famolare crepe soles.
Flagrant is not the word I'm searching for, nor blatant. Conspicuous, yes, but that's not sufficiently pumped. Even the word "SPRING" does not seem sufficiently fuchsia alligator crinkle-patent leather enough this year...She's got electric boots and a mohair suit. You know I read it in a magazine....B-b-b-Bennie and the jets.
© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder