![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rushthatspeaksToday is the first day I haven't worn shoes! I carry them around, of course, to put on in case any official sort of person tells me to do so or leave the building, but outside no one cares and, since I put them on for the dining hall, I don't see why it should matter to anyone else. It isn't as though there are signs on the libraries asking you to wear them or anything. My feet are appallingly winter-tender. I don't think they'll get much chance to harden up this summer, as Boston is not a place in which to go barefoot, but there is a little while now, and I am happy about it.
Also, there is a nest of baby squirrels right outside Erdman. There are three of them, and they are about one-third of their adult size, still very unformed-looking and fuzzier than they have any right to be. They haven't got their tree legs yet and lurch around as though they are very concerned about falling off any second now. Their mother watches out for the hawk, who is of course the self-appointed predestined fate of little stupid baby squirrels, but so far so good. I think the squirrel may be the totem of the east coast, really. I mean, out west is Coyote's country, that much is obvious, and northwest is Raven's, and midwest may be Deer's, as being the only wild animal I ever really ran into out there, but around here, well, there are deer, but they seem very uncomfortable, and there are geese, who act exactly like tourists, and if you're looking for a real animal presence around here, well, I'm not surprised so many people in the bico have settled on the squirrel. The east coast acts like something a squirrel might have made. Treeish and nippy and full of piles of leaves and small nooks and dust and decay and wind and hills. This is not a country for big majestic gods, not Pennsylvania, so I'm quite happy with smaller ones who chitter at me from under the bushes.
There are a lot of trees in flower, too. I wish I knew more about trees, but I can't tell an oak from an elm. I think the big puffy pink ones that look like tissue paper are Chinese plum, and the cherry trees are obvious, but I've no idea on the lovely-smelling giant white ones, or the waxy circular purple-and-white that look a little like magnolia, or the very dark red ones that look like autumn leaves from a distance. Most of the petals haven't set yet, but the waxy magnolia-maybes are, and are very pleasant to walk on. It's the probably-plums that are the best to walk on, though; they make a perfect carpet, and they blow like the sakura does.
Recreational Reading: Always Coming Home, Ursula LeGuin
Also, there is a nest of baby squirrels right outside Erdman. There are three of them, and they are about one-third of their adult size, still very unformed-looking and fuzzier than they have any right to be. They haven't got their tree legs yet and lurch around as though they are very concerned about falling off any second now. Their mother watches out for the hawk, who is of course the self-appointed predestined fate of little stupid baby squirrels, but so far so good. I think the squirrel may be the totem of the east coast, really. I mean, out west is Coyote's country, that much is obvious, and northwest is Raven's, and midwest may be Deer's, as being the only wild animal I ever really ran into out there, but around here, well, there are deer, but they seem very uncomfortable, and there are geese, who act exactly like tourists, and if you're looking for a real animal presence around here, well, I'm not surprised so many people in the bico have settled on the squirrel. The east coast acts like something a squirrel might have made. Treeish and nippy and full of piles of leaves and small nooks and dust and decay and wind and hills. This is not a country for big majestic gods, not Pennsylvania, so I'm quite happy with smaller ones who chitter at me from under the bushes.
There are a lot of trees in flower, too. I wish I knew more about trees, but I can't tell an oak from an elm. I think the big puffy pink ones that look like tissue paper are Chinese plum, and the cherry trees are obvious, but I've no idea on the lovely-smelling giant white ones, or the waxy circular purple-and-white that look a little like magnolia, or the very dark red ones that look like autumn leaves from a distance. Most of the petals haven't set yet, but the waxy magnolia-maybes are, and are very pleasant to walk on. It's the probably-plums that are the best to walk on, though; they make a perfect carpet, and they blow like the sakura does.
Recreational Reading: Always Coming Home, Ursula LeGuin
