Swept Away

The ivy is once again threatening to overtake us here. Every year it grows over the window frames, sending out armies of sticky fingers just like Fagin sent out his child thieves.  Only these are second-story men rather than pickpockets; they climb up the shingles and let themselves right into this upstairs room, pushing their way under and around the screens with their springy young muscles. By late June they will have made a Conga Line across the top of the baseboards and be heading for the bookcase.That’s what this season brings: the feeling of being overtaken by nature, first by its vegetation, then by its swoon-inducing warmth. You get just ... swept away, and it's not your fault.It's like the way women used to feel about sexual passion: that they couldn’t choose it because choosing it would mean they weren't 'nice' girls. Instead, they had to let it sort of overtake them, and if that isn’t a dumb way to live I don't know what is.I think of poor Marilyn Monroe. If it's true that she had a dozen abortions, I bet it was because someone as comfortable with her unclad body as she seemed to be did not feel comfortable saying 'no' to a man. Or if not 'no', then 'not now.'  Or, 'get some protection and we'll talk.'When she was married, first to Joe DiMaggio and then to Arthur Miller, she yearned to have babies. Instead, she had miscarriages, perhaps because of  the very severe case of endometriosis that some say resulted from all those procedures.But to get back to the summer riot of growth: Looks like you can stock up all you want on window fans and herbicides, Nature is still going to have her way with you. Maybe it’s better to just lie back and let her.

the other window, this one swagged in both silk AND ivy.