Airport 3

Just dropped younger daughter and friend at airport. Hard to do because I understand the greater meaning. Forcing myself to focus on the best ever family time all together. I say that every time and I always mean it.

Trips 1 and 2 were celebrations of homecoming, this third trip another story of willing myself to remember the way her hair smells.

Sent from my iPhone

BBQ

Gotta get some soon after arrival in Texas. At least according to our Washington and Minnesota family. So we did. The name of the joint is Heavy's. And now that name fits us, too.

Sent from my iPhone

Airport

Second happy trip to the airport this week, three more next week, but not such happy ones then. House dynamics will soon change with children in the mix. River low and slow still manages to entice us.

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Chuck

Chuck Will, wherever you are, someone is crying for your widow. Moon sliver encourages the caller's shyness, and darkness hugs us both beneath a purpling sky.

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Sprucing

Must be Saturday. Birds clamoring for the birdbath, as many as five at a time splashing, churning the water into feathery explosions, exchanging places with newcomers, continuing the ritual.

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Nirvana

My book has six middle-aged women crawling into a sweat lodge resembling a blue Volkswagen beetle, then sitting on flattened cardboard boxes and hoping desperately for elusive bliss. I'm sitting at the river studying variations in the calls of a red-winged black bird and of a goldfinch. I would rescue the fictional women if I could, invite them to my porch, hand them inflated floats, and lead the way down the rocky sidewalk to drip a mixture of salt and spring water. Found.

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Mini Me

I can never know enough, so I am smitten with my iPhone, after all these months, still smitten. Sitting on the porch sipping wine and competing with gnats, searching for goblet covers, discovering the origin for tapas. Missing faithful painted bunting pairs, calling them for their evening meal. Inspecting dormant lantanas, seeing that future rain forecast is at 60%. Mellowing too much to climb stairs for using computer to post, emailing blog direct. Leaving after the farewell sunset sky, locking doors, needing light to find keyhole. Smitten.

Mall Madness

Shopping. Fitting room. Buying. Black poly-cotton blend long pants. Black stretch denim capris. Black shiny cotton 98% and spandex 2% capris. White jeans. You read that correctly. White jeans. Pockets trimmed with silver studs. Front and back. You've got the picture. Now try to get it out of your head.

(Go ahead and comment, but I already know about Spanx.)

Lovers Quarrel

There they go again. A few minutes of quiet suggested that they had kissed and made up. Cooling off in the river. But no, up on the rocky bank the voices rise, back and forth, then clashing in a raucous assault to the recently peaceful spring afternoon. Questions, shouts, accusations, declarations of right and wrong, all carried by the wind to my porch rocking chair. I continue to rock and read, willing them into droning bees or elevator music played when put on hold or whirring plane engines.
The wind shifts, and the young man and woman no longer exist, their bickering blown away with as little consequence as their tiff. Purple martins warble and swoop.

Paintbrush Dancing

Cypress trees. 
Trunks.  Bark.  Branches.  Needles. 
Knees.  Roots. 
Water. 
Reflections. 
Moving water. 
Diminishing reflections. 
Depth.  Dark. 
Sunbeams.  Shadows. 
Glaze. 
Coda.