Back there, in yesterday’s late afternoon sun, thick fog bank looming, stretching in from the west, don’t panic endless stands of yellow. Yellow, yellow flowers, there’s fields and slopes and roadsides and sidewalks and yards and adorning-bushes yellow. So much yellow. All these years, even amidst my history of the annual spring 6A daffodils the bay side of Cape Cod – like, so many yellow flowers this season. Saffron days.
Fog’s back now, thick and likely misty, and me and the J kid will be on the road lickety-split-like, loaded down with hopeful paper and big new eyes for the old part of town.
Which, if this feels like code, it ain’t. Just weather, as usual. With a coffee question – If all the world’s a stage, how’d I end up with the janitor’s broom?