In anticipation of cloud cover, I worked a strawberry moon into a soggy ufo.
I should have taken a picture. Around sunset, Colin was out on the freshly cut lawn looking up. Over his head in the Big Tree, a red tailed hawk was counting squirrels. Behind the houses across the street, thunderheads piled up like pink and gold whipped cream, a Maxfield Parrish extravaganza that would block the moonrise. Heat lighting in the clouds, lighting bugs cruising the yards.
I didn't take a picture because I left my phone upstairs. Earlier, I left it at the pharmacy in Publix. I think it wants a divorce.
Saturday, I left it in the car after shopping. When I finally forced myself out into the heat to retrieve it, I stopped on the walkway to straighten a tipsy solar light.A little too much momentum and the post snapped and I fell, leading with my chin, and assorted other body parts by the bruises that are now surfacing.
Grateful that I missed the concrete walk, but baked Georgia clay with a little grass is nearly as hard.
I have lived in terror of falling since I topped out at a sturdy 5'8". Gravity is cruel and it's a long way down.
Five seconds, ten. Picture a grumpy camel rising from the sand. I got my elbows and knees in position to get...myself...up, because I was alone. Eiffel would be proud. Jaw worked, teeth okay. Knees, shoulders...keep moving. They shoot racehorses.
I got the phone from the car, then up steps and stairs to my bed. The monkey mind would not shut up.
I fell. I fell. The old woman had a fall. I fell.
Shut UP, already. You lived.
A few scraps of weary damask fancied up with a little discharging. Now I have find some AquaSafe to put a stop to that bleach.
3 comments:
SERIOUSLY considering your cloth scraps and thread for some stitch today. And I don't usually follow thru so we shall see if this old woman can do it. While watching soccer. It's only Tuesday and I thought it might be Friday.....wrong.
I fall a couple of times a year now. Never expected. Always with that same sense of surprise when that I am that age. And the immediate: is this reportable? But I have to say the writing here is so exquisite I could listen to you talk about trimming your fingernails. Honestly.
You would consider reporting me to someone.
The vanity! I file them, one by one, blunting the corners for strength, then using the finest grit to create a chef's knife edge with a rubbed in finish of Clary sage beard wax. Works wonders to seal and protect. If I ever needed to, I could pare a face to bone.
Post a Comment