Saturday, July 18, 2009

In Place

The laundry sways in the breeze.  A dragonfly settles on an orange and pink stripe of a limply hanging shirt.  High and low notes swirl upwards pausing for deep strokes then rising in quick motions.  Violin, then oboe from the house across the street. Kids buzz by on bikes with baseball hats and bats sticking out of backpacks, folks rattle grocery carts over sidewalks, the jingle of dog tags stop and then start.  I am still.  I am in place as the wind builds up a rustle of leaves in the oaks and elms.  

Muddy footprints flop across the deck, brightly colored toys are scattered across the lawn; a yellow toy boat, a rusted green car, broken balloons in pink and orange.  The earth, covered in brown cocoa shells is moist now and the sun shines for just a moment.  Weeping mulberry bushes hang their heart-shaped leaves low.  My words are limited, hard to come by.  I sit. 

Thick green vines grow upward and outwards, some with spikes and spines, some smooth and fuzzy, some fragrant with the scent of fresh garden salsa.  Blossoms are brown and dry or small and yellow waiting for pollination.  Still others open in full white, orange and purple blooms. An endless variety of color.

Children's faces are stained purple by berries; they run through the grass after balls and dogs then sit quietly building statues with rocks and sand.  The green hose wraps around a lawn chair dripping slowly through a purple nozzle.  Muddy gloves dry in the sun.  This is my summer now that all is quiet, the endless chatter and motion settling back into the gentle swaying of laundry on the line.

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