Small Stone for July 18, 2014

I lift to my lips a cobalt blue glass and sip raspberry tea, rattling with ice cubes.  The glass is sweating profusely in the unaccustomed humidity; droplets of condensation drip from its nether edge and hit my tee-shirt like tiny water balloons.  If I were to go out walking this very minute, what would passersby think of my tee-shirt speckled just in this one small area of midriff with blots of moisture?  I imagine Jeremy Brett’s Sherlock glancing my way, his eyebrow rising, one corner of his mouth quirking wryly,  putting period to his deductions with a single soft Humph! of amusement.

Small Stone for July 14, 2011

Morning. I free a hair braid, comb smooth the loopy snags of hair rucked up during sleep.  Half of my hair falls in a long ripple from my ear to the ends.  Cool, slightly damp as I comb it into my gathering hand.  Important to get equal thirds.  Tension each third carefully to start the braid just behind the top of  my ear. I’d worn two braids maybe half a dozen times in my whole life until this summer’s months of day after day hotter than 100.  Fingers still a little awkward, but practiced enough not to need help from my eyes. The ponytail elastic double wrapped three times lies just below my collar bone.  Then the other side.

Small Stone for July 11, 2011

At the stop sign by the playa lake I see the long hot days have sucked the shallow end  bare-dirt dry.  The white duck and his speckled lady have twice as far to lockstep steeply down to the stainless-steel dull water.  A zipper of gulls ride the basket rim of the scuttled shopping cart uncovered by the sinking of the lake.

Small Stone for July 9, 2011

A trip to the curb to get the mail.  Scamper quickly.  The sidewalk is hot sandpaper under bare feet and hot enough to press the wrinkles of my footprints smooth.