12 May 2020. Children's Game.
Just visible from under the fence, a perfect sphere, just the bottom part, that is--caught in the narrow space behind neighbor's house--behind the row of pittosporum--it probably rolled in there with no one seeing, now overlooked, maybe forgotten. Somehow I like the idea--this remnant of a children's game--like hearing the neighbor family's voices on the weekend, so unusual to have everyone home, gathered together. Diana's in particular--she must be about four now, her questions quite alert. Not surprising, given two highly alert parents--but it's more than that. You sense the surround they provide, the enclosure, opening to possibility.
The ball is cerise--but everyone on this side takes it in stride--another facet to the blooming spring. For the jay it's a complement to his own finery--that dusky blue--and for the titmouse--well, she has more important bathing chores. And besides, Goose may be lurking about, so one small eye must be kept open...
I made a photograph as well--for if seen just right, the ball could also be a slice of moon. Brought low now, as in the Sappho poem that C read to me on Friday evening. From Out of Africa. A parable, really--the old Chinese woman with the parrot, words repeated over many years, but only now understood...
The moon and the Pleiads...
