Monday, March 7, 2011
While on my walk today,
I saw banks of clivia, and I thought about Sophie's sixteenth birthday tomorrow and whether I would make or bake cupcakes for her party at school. I noticed spit on the sidewalk shaped like a pocketbook and ran my fingers through a bank of lavender, then sniffed them. I heard birds singing and crows squawking, the double toot of the roach coach and a small child shouting I love you. The clouds to the north were puffy and rolled in banks over the hills while in the west they darkened. The shadows of the endless palms were long, dwarfed by my own. I passed a man with a dog that didn't look like his and a woman whose dog looked like her. I waited for cars at intersections and felt the dull ache of my heels and when I lifted my face to the sun it was warm and I didn't need to blink.