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| Rain lilies. We’ve had rain lately, but the deer are still eating the zinnias and runner beans. |
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The guitar carves our saunter in the woods, with a nod at our footfall by the man picking base. Fiddle follows the sweat sliding down warm arms, smooth slippery sounds of summer. A lively banjo details the levity of the rippling brook we walk along, the darting cardinal family, the scampering squirrels and the sunlit leaves. Johnny Cash fuses the layers of sound in a baritone honeycomb. I smile down at Chas, who always shouts for me to play “Ring of Fire” in the car. And over at Ford, who has recently discovered the geological significance behind that song’s name; engrossed as he is, now, in volcanology. |
| Mama Says Om |
SPC: Pop Art: week 3
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I’m supposed to write something about this photograph, according to the Self Portrait Challenge rules. Well, screw that. I don’t have a thing to say about this photograph. I just like it. So there. |
We Love You, Daddy
Having you back felt like a tranquilizer, smoothing out kinks and rolling out my soul to bask in the sun. I loved how you took the boys to watch the cup at Doc’s while I got my hair cut, and having ritas afterwards under the misting fans, Chas mingling with the clientele and Ford schmoozing the waitstaff for Galaga quarters.
I loved listening to kids, whistles and cicadas under that gimongous blue sky on Saturday evening. The one that began to eclipse Deep Eddy in shadow, upstaging all the splashing and bubbling in a quiet, classy grace. And eating hatchburgers and beer and blackberry cobbler, catching up while the kids watched Lady and the Tramp overhead at the Shady Grove. And I loved the part when they fell asleep in the car, on the way home, and stayed asleep for another half hour so we could, um, hang out in the front yard.
Sweeeeeeeet