Second Helping

Wind sings and anything loose in the cut hedges keeps time. Ferns dance at the edge of the quarry pool. Wind fingers trail water, fuzzle reflected trees. Over the river the shelter in the cow field slams a loose roof panel. In the lane a young fox watches; stolid, legs planted, fur thickly smooth, eyes bright: remembers itself, flees sheepish through stubby thorns. Dog runs, returns, sparkling, dripping mud.
The fat trunked ash lets the wind loosen dead wood to drop later, unexpected.
After the walk the interruptions parcel up:
Mum, I need a- it's okay I got one!
Where's the internet gone?
Can we have a lift? Not yet- oh, never mind.
This pasta is delicious!
Yay, internet!
Parcel: each one takes space and time, is neither entirely unexpected nor a surprise.
Simultaneous: tap type check add tweak.
Soup By Volume Two pours out.
Not dissimilar to the first, of course. But every day has its own flavour.
Today is basil, garlic, red wine. Perhaps a hint of coffee.


Geo. said…
As I read this, I gradually found myself laughing with the sheer delight of it's strangeness and familiarity. I learn here but also feel at home here. How do you do that? It's remarkable. Don't have to tell me --I am only a boy of 64 and will puzzle it out on my own-- but wanted to compliment your writing!
Geo. said…
Great doodle! Then, "Wind fingers trail water..." I got stuck there, couldn't like that line more if I'd written it myself. I sure learn here.
Lisa Southard said…
:-) Thank you much Geo! *basks in compliment glow like a lizard on a sunny rock :-)

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

A Candle Lit

E, That Was Funny