DREAMING LAST NIGHT of cold sea air. The country was saturated with a coastal system, and the smell of the ocean spread far into the Rockies, beyond the Plains and south, here, to Texas. This morning the air is much colder, but it doesn't carry with it the sea. When the breeze shifts to the southeast you can smell the Gulf of Mexico. But it's usually warm, torpid air then, not the air of my dream. Now Hoa rests, reading a magazine. K watches Blue's Clues on TV as Waylon sleeps. I drink coffee, a few moments alone. Books are scattered under papers on the kitchen table. Grey light comes through the front window and tiny red salvia blossoms bend with the breeze. Neighbors dump their bulk trash for tomorrow's collection: iron rails, toilets, a dryer, black chair, lawn equipment, random boards, sheet rock, metal pieces and wire. First full day of spring, a quiet house without even the sound of its pulsing this morning. Listen to the coffee go down, the sound of my swallowing stretched from throat to ears. Breakfast dishes dry on the rack. Some days the black stone remains hidden. You don't want to break your head on it. Brew Hoa's lemon balm tea. A cedar waxwing suddenly flashes by, green, brown and grey. Eyes blink behind a narrow mask.
Posted by Dale at May 14, 2004 06:56 AM