Several weeks ago I made three angel wing begonia cuttings from an indoor plant gone wild and put them in a small glass vase to root. This afternoon I potted them, and set them at the bottom of the front step, where I expect they will be for the rest of the summer. By late fall the plants will likely be too tall for the pot. So it goes.
The baby juncos haven’t traveled far. I still see them in the backyard. They flit about quite capably now and take care of themselves, though I often find them in the company of one or the other of their parents. Or maybe I’m fooling myself, and these aren’t the birds that hatched from our hanging basket at all — except that I do recognize the adults, the male especially, and he seems to recognize me; at any rate, he doesn’t mind when I’m near.
Earlier today, I remembered an old haiku — seventeen syllables of silliness I called “Thoreau,” and later hid safely away in Poems, Notes, and Drawings:
After many years,
I make this discovery —
cricket in my shoe
I say silliness, but in light of so many of his journal entries, the poem also seems quite accurate and true. But now I wonder about the cricket’s point of view.
July 27, 2022
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Categories: A Few More Scratches
Tags: Angel Wing Begonias, Birds, Crickets, Haiku, Journals, Juncos, Memory, Silliness, Thoreau
William Michaelian 
Da Grillen Dreipunktaugen besitzen, sehen sie ganz sicher mehr als wir, lächel….
Liebe Grüße, Edith
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Lucky crickets!… I guess that’s why they always jump in time…
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