Dandelion Bats

At their old house my Grandpa had little storage drawers in the garage labeled “crap,” “more crap,” and “assorted crap.”
That is sort of like this entry.

The other night I was dozing off in the living room and in the bizarre stage between waking and sleep I slipped into a semi-lucid dream that involved cartoon bats flapping all over the place with these huge soft pink ears.
I was so thrilled with my muddled hallucination, I purposefully woke myself up to tell the others in the room about it.

I bought a hideous, yet oddly wonderful wall-hanging at DI yesterday. I found it hiding out in the “yard” section of the store, utterly out of place. From the second I laid eyes on it I knew I needed it more completely than I have ever needed something so utterly needless. It is hard to describe.
It is this sort of three-dimensional tree made of yarn and wire and frayed string pieces.
Jessica thought it looked like a bunch of colorful hair ripped out of a clown doll’s head and glued to tree branches.
Becca and I thought it looked awesome.
It reminds me of Danielson and the 9-fruit tree.


Sometimes I think that animal collective captures the very essence of romance in their lyrics:
fruity nuts and good grains
solid souls
peculiar ways
I want to walk around with you (just you)

Sometimes I think of love as the chance to start my own empire.
Sometimes I fear that true love will always be accompanied with small doses of apathy. Like “who cares if the world still sucks as long as I can make my world, with you, beautiful.”
Or, you know, maybe love is just wanting to walk around with someone. I wouldn’t know.

The lifecycle of a dandelion is tragically short. I feel like it was only a few weeks ago that they sprouted up in just about every field and yard in Provo and now I can already see their fluffy white heads ready to blow away…

the joy of ear and eye

I love spring even though it is incredibly fickle: snow one day, sunshine the next.
I love how, with the warmth, everyone seems to emerge from sleepy hibernation and the lawns and walkways buzz with sudden activity. Out come the bicyclers and the football players and the picnickers and the sunbathers and the ice cream vendors.
Tonight I saw a couple of girls studying on a blanket-spread, stubbornly using every last second of daylight--until the streetlamps blinked on and they squinted at their books in the orangish glow.

Today I also saw a man crouched by the side of the road, peering into the grass like a child making some grand discovery. Many people passed him by, but as I approached I looked down to see what he was studying. It looked at first like a small pile of dirt, but on closer examination I saw a massive writhing swarm of ants--all concentrated in one small patch of grass.
I crouched down with him, and without diverting his gaze marveled with him for a moment.

Spring is still a miracle to me. I took the long way home yesterday and stopped to look at every bush, every tree in blossom. I felt the tiny buds with my fingers. I collected specimens of colorful flowers and cupped them in my hands.


It made me want to sing all of the springtime hymns:

For the beauty of the earth,
For the glory of the skies;
For the love which from our birth,
Over and around us lies;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the wonder of each hour,
Of the day and of the night;
Hill and vale and tree and flow'r,
Sun and moon, and stars of light;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye,
For the heart and mind's delight;
For the mystic harmony,
Linking sense to sound and sight;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This, our hymn of grateful praise.

I've never read or sung that third verse before. It is not included in our hymn book, but I believe it is by the original author. I think it is now my favorite of them all.

Summer Plans

1. Read so much my brain explodes.
2. Work.
3. Plant. Water. Weed. Harvest. Eat.
4. Ride my bicycle.
5. Create things.