Watching grass grow

the 29th/6 2015. 12ºC or 53.6ºF. Gray. Usually I reserve my merino wool shirts for the winter days. Yet am drawn to them still. That is, I find the need to wear them because I haven’t moved enough to feel heat become burdensome. Not that it will or promise to be. Even when I was painting the ceiling of a kitchen today, when I broke a slight sweat, I didn’t feel heat, just some sweat beeds running down my forehead bothering me. A few sunrays managed to peek through the thick layering of clouds that bespeckle the sky and a slight feeling of a humid pressure made its presence be sensed, or was it my imagination? I find it teasing to see the sun color the otherwise dull landscape before me because it kind of makes you feel you want more. Then they disappear from sight again. Only the brush or the grass give hints that it might be summer. Some tall grass shoots give the appearance of an unmanaged lot like an old scruffy man. They thrive in what is. So I find myself watching grass grow. This is it.