We make our den on the shoulder of the City.
Her bold features rise granite and steel on the horizon and scrape the sky.
We hear the wail of her sirens and the rumble of carts upon her roads.
An emerald necklace encircles her clavicle
and we make there our daily perambulation
meditating on the goodness of flora and fauna.
The servants of Arnold tend a rich flock of trees and shrubs.
My companion says, "In the season of new growth, partake of this offering.
The odor of flower fruit and seed shall be good in your mighty nose
and so also the odor of compost and carrion in your fur."
Signs are upon the trees.
We know the name of each and its lineage.
Praise be to the servants of Arnold.
Exegesis and Commentary
Most of this is, I think, quite self-evident: the Emerald Necklace, the Arnold Arboretum, etc. The one surprise to me is the good smells; I thought I made clear my dislike of the carrion fragrance in her fur, but I guess the power of her own desire for it overwhelms anything I have to say.
Many of the flowers in the Arb are now past. It's green and lush, and fruit and seeds are starting to come out. But there are many little cadavers in the grass, in which the dogs revel. Their unabashed appreciation for the place of death in life is a reminder I appreciate.
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5 comments:
I recall a little scrap of dead thing - we never knew quite what it was - that both Felix and Frida rolled on and even moved to another place so they could return to it another time. Until now I never saw this as reverence for the dead. Perhaps because at the time I was screaming Get off that! Leave that! Thank you for enlightening me.
Ah, yes, but a lovely memory that. I'm sure Felix and Frida could recall the odor in great detail . . . .
O.
Frida, I bring good tidings from all of my pack! Did you bestow a particularly odoriferous gift upon your companion today in honor of her years of service to you? I understand that today (the 17th) marks the day of her birth. You could also dine on goose poop and then kiss her; my companions always scrunch up their faces with pleasure when I do that.
Your pictures of the Arboretum brought back some fond memories.
-Fergus
Oh Saint Frida, today I heeded your words of praise and, finding a green island amidst a sea of concrete, didst roll continuously, inhaling, inhaling.
Dear Carlo--
You are truly wondrous in your good rolling. May the season bless you with many strong smells to perfume your coat. Your humans will be pleased, I am sure.
As are mine with with generous goose-poop kisses. Fergus, you speak truth: among the abundance of riches I have to bestow upon my companion to celebrate her birthday, treats from the ground (from which my companion always neglects to eat) are my favorites.
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