Friday, August 19, 2016

Triple Play

Every other Sunday, I get a manicure and pedicure as my reward for walking an hour each morning. After, I head over to the pub next door for a solitary, but not lonely, lunch. I drink a couple of margaritas, and nosh on sweet potato fries while I write in my journal and read my current read.

Today, an unoccupied table next to mine holds the debris of its previous occupant littered across the white cloth surface. One place setting, not immediately noticed since there are three of everything, says I’m not the only person who eats alone.

Three white, small plates form a triangle. The bottom left plate holds three french fries, uneaten. No ketchup. The plate on the right features three half disks of tomato, each cut across the diameter, three different sizes. Three teaspoons, stacked one atop the other, rest on the third plate. The top spoon holds two candied cherries.   

Three elegant, rounded blue bottles of water stand guard where another place setting would be if a second person had sat across the table. Each bottle is open, the twist caps placed so they form the periods of exclamation points. The water level, half full, matches the top of the white and blue labels.

Three Origami boxes folded from paper napkins form a soft tower of white to the left of the bottles. Brown stains leak from one box to the next and onto the white tablecloth, a 3D Rorschach mystery. Leaning up against these packages, standing on their short sides, three crisp twenty dollar bills, stiff in their used state.

Under the table, the walnut chair legs end drag marks made through a circle of salt or sugar drawn on the red brick patio. A splash of red with radiating tendrils mars the grains like an open wound where the third Maraschino landed and came to rest.

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Walking Tour - Flowers and Fences

It's been dangerously hot the past few days. I last walked on Wednesday. Today, it will be an adjusted 108 degrees Fahrenheit, 42 Celsius.





Next week, we'll look at orange construction cones.



Tuesday, August 09, 2016

Building

We approach from the West across a long, wide pasture where brown cows graze. Not my cows. Someone else's cows because that's work. But I like the look of cows in my front yard. A wood covers the back forty. Tall, straight trees cooling the morning sun. Apple trees grow to the left-side, wooden bee hives tucked in under their gnarled branches. Off to the right, a riot of wildflowers, buttercups, chicory, and Star-of-Bethlehem. Split rail fencing keeps the animals out and away from the tasty blooms.

A long gravel road leads up to the house, skirts through the orchard and dwindles into a path entering the weald. Follow along the moss and pine needle covered trail and you reach a low, wide rocky river that guards my back and provides a relaxing soundtrack for the space. Large, flat boulders provide shelves for meditating, sunbathing and feet dunking.

Fierce, white geese guard the perimeter from unwanted guests, patrolling with their chicks in tow, barking orders and warnings, keeping the three farm horses in line.

Of course, the person really in charge of this idyllic spot is Fred, the border collie who lives with me.