“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

7.07.2015

water, night, planets and stars


my feet.  fast water.  delicious darkness.  

they sent me pictures.  they said the corner is wonderful, the water is clean.  they sent more pictures. they said there was a story out there.  because that's the kind of neighborhood in which i live.  that's the kind of friends i have.


there'd been hydrants open all day, all up and down the street.  i'd watched kids playing in the water, listened to the sound as it fell into the creek and rushed onward to wherever it goes.  i'd come home, a long day behind me, and i'd fallen headfirst into an open book full of words and silence.  exhaled, and exhaled again.  and yet again. and then came the messages.  then and only then did i realize the water was still flowing.  and so never mind the darkness, the lateness, the fact that i was in pajama pants.  i just rolled them up and stepped outside.

i never found my friends, but i walked the brick streets barefoot.  they were right - it was wonderful. i felt weight lift from my shoulders, felt like a child, felt like an adult appreciating that childlike happiness.  felt like i didn't care what anyone thought.  felt like summer and magic and nighttime all rolled into one.  venus and jupiter hung bright in the clear sky, moving apart but still close.

i'd taken my old iphone, the one with the crappy camera, not expecting to take pictures, but i couldn't resist. when the ever-wonderful michael called and asked what i was up to, i told him.  put your flipflops on, he said, you'll hurt yourself.  

no.
i love him, but no.

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7.01.2015

grrrrrrrr . . . and then there was light


welcoming july.  she's taken a long time to get here, and yet wasn't yesterday just christmas?  weren't we just fireworking in the new year?  and now here we are, summer's fireworks just a couple of days away.  i'm growing old - time flies past me and around me and all i feel is my hair, daily streaked with more white and gray, blowing in its wake.

i am up late each night, unable to sleep, and was there to say hello when july sashayed in under the stars and clouds, the shy moon stealing a glance for just a second.  we'd looked for the moon earlier last evening, sitting on the back porch, slapping away mosquitoes, talking away the darkness, but the clouds kept it hidden until later, when i was back in the house.  i caught a glimpse from the kitchen window, and then it was gone.  

i expect more tonight.  i expect its light to stream through my bedroom windows and give me an excuse for my wakefulness.  i expect to barely notice the exchange of sunlight for moonlight.  i expect the sound of cicadas and more mosquitoes and a bit of summer wind.  i expect the cat to yowl and the dog to growl and when i finally fall to sleep, i expect my dreams to be sweet ones.

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title courtesy of a friend of a friend.  i wish i'd said it.

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6.28.2015

the cat's chair



i dreamed about draperies, sheer against a nighttime sky.
i could see the stars through them.

it's because the house is still a mess.  it's because i keep changing my mind about the new floor color. it's because because because.  

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yesterday i was sure this new color, the one you see above, was too light, too gray, too everything.  i decided it needed to be darker, needed to be the color of a pair of old navy shoes i own, still taupe, but browny taupe, darker.  i was sure.  and then this morning i moved the furniture again, more of the floor needing to at least be primed, the couch now in the middle of the living room, just a bit of walking room around it.  i moved this chair onto a part of the floor already painted, this chair that i was so in love with back when it was new and perfect, this chair that the cat destroyed back when she was new to this place and there seemed no way to stop her, this chair that i eventually handed over to her - it's yours, i thought, and maybe even said out loud.  even though when i'd catch her scratching it i would stop her, i knew it was useless.  and anyway, the chair was less important, and i just covered it and i still cover it.  eventually there may be a slipcover because it's a comfy chair, and it holds all those memories of the months after my mother's death, when her cat became my cat. memories in the form of those scratches.  she was making her mark.  i've talked about this before, about how she mostly now uses the pear tree by the staircase, scratching right where maggie used to scratch.

but back to the chair, back to the floor that this morning i suddenly liked.  i keep leaning over from my spot here on the couch so i can see the chair sitting there.  it scratched a bit of the new paint when i settled it into place and that seemed kind of perfect.

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