this morning, on the back porch. katie leaves them for me to find, though she doesn't know that. most every night she sits in the darkness with candlelight and the smell of summertime coming and going, and in the mornings i spy her evenings and smile.
yesterday, the lake. a boat. the ever-wonderful and i. we forgot our hats and the sky was blue and the day was hot and the clouds all looked like animals on their backs, having their bellies scratched. less than an hour on the water and we had to be in it, floating, floating, watching a storm move in from the southeast, the sky going gray and grayer, and suddenly he knew it was time to go. back into the boat and the heat, not a breeze anywhere you looked, not even with the boat moving faster across the water. and then, there it was. a fast breeze, a storm breeze, the temperature dropping, the sky going black. no lightning, no thunder, just air and joy.
we made it back with a minute to spare.
last sunday i wrote:
the lampshade is crooked. earlier this morning the sun hung just so in the sky, rising behind the window, and the fan cast its shadow through that crooked shade. the sun is higher in the sky now, the shadows gone, the bedroom cooler, less bright. the air smells like dust.
i’ve had a cold. or allergies or something, cough included. summer seems to at last be here, and the sun, now even higher, fills the front yard with light. russell crowe is on the television, dressed as robin hood, near the movie’s end where sherwood forest glows a lovely blue here in the corner of my house. my house of still-in-transition. the cough has made me lazy and tired, and though almost gone, i let it rest me a bit more, let it linger me on the couch for a while longer this sunday morning. the front door is open, the cat sleeping somewhere in sunshine or shade, or perhaps on the bed, a small circle of contentment. i have hopes she'll leave some of that contentment behind when she awakes, a bit for me to lay my head on, a bit to sink into my soul.
the house is still on crutches, relearning its way of walking, and the past few days i have been feeling its aches and exhaustion, have understood its secret plea to just stop, to just let it end, to hand it an old fashioned and let it drink its pains away. in truth, i want to sit next to it and share that drink, and stop thinking for a while, ignore the bumping into obstacles no matter where we turn.
slow living right now.
this morning aragorn is on the television and gandalf the white is about to appear. my front door is once again open and it is humid. you can see the grass growing, tree limbs hanging heavy. today the cat is asleep on a chair, a good place to hear the birds in her dreams, a good place to feel the fan as it moves past. the church bells chime the hours.