We had sandwiches for lunch that day. Sandwiches and lemonade--sweet and sour, with melting ice cubes rotating in lazy spirals. The condensation slipped down the acrylic tumbler and wedged against the table. I stared out over the field with grasses swaying to something like music, something just out of my hearing, leaving my ears straining. I wanted to kneel among those leaves and press my hands and face against their coolness and breathe the earth, to cocoon in the mass of greens and golds and browns and see how I emerged.
It was all a mess. Flashes of light. A prickly sensation through my skin. Heat. It was all that I could imagine, like some far away memory. It should be there, you've hear the story enough times, but there is just a vague shadow, an emotional imprint, but not a real image. Rather like peering into a room through frosted glass. I didn't know what to say. I shrugged and walked away.
3 comments:
Oh! You need to do a lot more writing! Please.
Perhaps I should turn the heat up in the apartment some, so she doesn't have any more cold-induced episodes like this...
Must reduce caffeine consumption.
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