An Early Experiment

The mirror reflects, obliquely, a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters the specks of black my beard is made of on the breeze. A daffodil hangs down its treasure and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs, shielding from the windy noise its yellow across my face. The nose protrudes, ridiculous excrescence. A leaf half green sweeps up in circles in the whiteness all around. A weak chin, think I, of windy sighs. Squirrels crack acorns, crunching, down into a patchy neck. Very unsatisfactory remembering winter's almost famine. The trees -- appearance. Altogether so. Oh well. Quiet. Steady. Sturdy. Oh well. The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.