I cleaned my sunglasses this morning as the Sun was shining, nice, but things still seemed dim. The inside of the lenses had a thick coat of pollen.
The patio is covered, window sills, your nose must be full, and many are truly suffering from this Springtime onslaught.
Pine pollen magnified.
I read a great little essay in the New Yorker Magazine some time ago, a bit of science fiction, tinged with melancholy. I was reminded of the story today, wiping off my glasses. Here is a bit of the essay as enticement, to a click.
“Something appeared in the sky shortly before one o’clock. Many of us were still at lunch, others were already outside, standing motionless on the streets and sidewalks, gazing up. There were shouts and cries, arms in the air, a wildness of gesturing, pointing. And, sure enough, something was glittering, up there in the sky, something was shimmering, in the blue air of summer—we saw it clearly, whatever it was. Secretaries in offices rushed to windows, storekeepers abandoned their cash registers and hurried outdoors, road workers in orange hard hats looked up from the asphalt, shaded their eyes. It must have lasted—that faraway glow, that spot of shimmer—some three or four minutes. Then it began to grow larger, until it was the size of a dime, a quarter. Suddenly the entire sky seemed to be filled with points of gold. Then it was coming down on us, like fine pollen, like yellow dust. It lay on our roof slopes, it sifted down onto our sidewalks, covered our shirtsleeves and the tops of our cars. We did not know what to make of it.”
See you at the Farmers Market today on the Swasey