The house was very quiet, and the fog … pressed against the windows like an excluded ghost.
E.M. Forster, Howards End
I’m feeling depleted and uninspired and think I will skip posting again today.
Then I come across these words, and a description of fog as being “pressed against the windows like an excluded ghost”, and I am overcome with delight.
I glance out my window at the gray and think I can probably craft something that will allow me to use the quote because there is—after all and again—fog out there.
Spring comes slow this year, wrestling and rebellious; teasing me with a taste here, a glimpse there, but still no concentrated gardening time.
Ordinary time, elusive too; it is as if someone hit pause and here I sit waiting for something I can’t quite put my finger on. Something that is deliciously ordinary.
Today, accompanying Gerry to one of those not-so-ordinary __ologist appointments.
Your words are so compelling, taking me right into your morning. So different than mine here in Tempe Arizona where temperatures are in the 90s with high winds and dust storms. Breaking records. Would I trade for your fog and gray. I don’t think so. But i miss the Northwest acutely….the blooming forsythia, tulips emerging, the flowering plum that brings the bees and when they came I used to stand under the spreading branches with the bees a foot above my head working the blossoms…then the lilacs, the lavender… Oh my, I need to be as thrilled with the blooming Palo Verde and Mesquite trees, the red of the ubiquitous bougainvillea as contrast. There is beauty everywhere.
Dear Linda, here, too, today, the weather glooms me. I find myself feeling just a little self-pity. So I make a cup of tea and let it’s warmth seep into my innards! I hope you, too, have something like tea to lift your spirits. Oh, for you, it’s that quotation. Do you have a book of quotations that speak to you as clearly as this one did? Peace.