(misidentified on the postcard) Georges Seurat, “Chahut” First, a sour dinner experience; then, a walk across the street to the symphony. Full house, full stage, season finale. Quantity is not quality. Program’s long list of benefactors smile, oblivious. The conductor smiles bravely.

Georges Seurat, “The river Seine at La Grande-Jatte” Chirps of birds have turned from plaintive to excited. Worms dance and new insects emerge. The bird bath splashes with roof runoff. Dust and pollen are dashed into mud.

Georges Seurat, “Courbevoie, Landscape with Turret” I take my daily stroll around the yard; raindrops gift me their coolness. I survey the tomatoes vibrating with light. Long-planted seeds are sprouting. Color is returning after the drought.

Georges Seurat, Alfalfa, St. Denis It hasn’t rained in over six weeks. Everything’s still green, but you can see the grass is fading; some blades are tan. Should I mow the grass? It’s tall. Do I keep neighbors happy and grassocide? Or say feck it and explain later?