The swift reversal of expectations; grey winds with rain smatterings clash around the edge of the house while the porch chimes rage in metal fury. It’s April! It’s April! They are upset. They try flying separate of each other but the gales force them together into a tangled mess. Their pipes, smashed into and up against each other, hang limply in a confused and matted clump. I consider them; helpless children. They will require a ladder, stretching and reaching on my part, and a lengthy time on the couch unwinding each black string, silver pipe and wooden weight. Not today.
I think about strawberries and a croissant; a medium coffee…lighter breakfast fare as it is April, after all. It’s April! I hear the roar of the wind, watch the massacre of rain all over the windows. The birds fly slightly sideways in the air. They are surprised.
Breakfast re-group…hot buttered garlic toast, dark chocolate coffee, the kind which places a wild ‘ping’ in one’s head and a lurch in one’s chest. Add thick cream. Fruit and sunshine can wait. I’m back in the throes of autumn on this April day; amber and butter and lux and gold; cheese and bisque and the heavier spoons…
690 Saint Paul 