Sensory Input

What I see: A sky so blue, so rich, I feel immersed in it simply by looking, awash in the heights, the depths, the smooth, cool, silken clarity of it. Pink popcorn tree (ornamental cherry) shouting for attention with a profusion of blooms, pale ruffles curling delicately around themselves, nestled in the nascent leaves along their branches, shaking themselves in the breeze. Lima beans in the window, reminding me of Jack's magic beans that grew and grew, striving towards the sun, newly sprouted but already vigorous. Sprouted herbs waiting to sink their roots into the earth, leaning towards the window and the sun, feathery dill, tiny wee oregano, eager basil, future pickles and sauces and pesto. Pea vine climbing the string we put up. Bird's pet plant from which he has already harvested a pod, peas eaten raw and in the moment and enjoyed. Tomato plants trying to grow beyond seedling stage, dreaming of salads to be. Sunlight dappling the ground, urging things to grow! grow! wake up and grow!

What I hear: An auditory crazy quilt of birds, each one trying to convince all the others that he is the finest. Someone and the Evil Genius discussing math, and dragons, and vermiculture. Tiger Kitty (the not-very-wild wild cat) out front, mewling little meowls, ready to have her kittens and demanding one of us come outside and pet her, dang it, because OW! And aircraft droning in the distance, counterpoint to the buzzing of the carpenter bees busily turning my front steps into sawdust.

What I smell: A breeze that would be fresh but for the pound of pollen per breath. Sunlight on wood, on earth, on growing things. Breakfast, recently eaten, of onion, garlic, mushrooms, and spinach sauteed in butter and olive oil, eggs scrambled in, sausage/cream cheese dip and grated cheese added, English muffins toasted and buttered. The faint acrid scent of sheets that were wet and want washing. Cut grass, sweet.

What I taste: Remnants of garlic and onion, hints of strawberry jam on a buttered English muffin, the tang of cranberry/pomegranate juice on my tongue. Pollen, borne along the breeze.

What I feel: The gentle brush of breeze on skin. The rough skin on the bottom of my foot rubbing against my leg. Fullness from breakfast. Sated, content. Tired. Soft kitty fur against my cheek.

How 'bout you?