she wanted to talk to him again but no longer knew what, if anything, could be deemed safe conversation or who was the judge of it. she flipped through the card catalog of her day: the aches in her body and how ibuprofen helped; wind speeds that whipped her hair; pink lemonade superbells: lovely proven winner petunias replacing the leggy ready refills; 11,000 steps by 11 a.m.; a cloud's shape, the sun's yawn, desert flowers exploding, after the rains, and, always, brown cows along the highway. swoop. she wanted to ask him, what he'd been up to, how he was doing, where he'd be, why everything ... however she didn't know what to say, or if she ought to. so, instead she collected mouthfuls of the day, views from her window, in case, just in case.
Today is April 7th and I am back in KC and back at work at my morning job watering plants. It’s still National Poetry Month so on my working days I’ll write my poems later in the day.
I saw this meme recently and it made me think this was very true about seeing cows by the side of the road:
(I love Andy forever, even if I don’t like CP’s politics.)
The sun’s yawn! ♥️