Yesterday morning, around ten o’clock, the skies were serene with an almost imperceptible breeze.
Later in the afternoon, the sky turned grey, and a passing rain shower glided by.
The skies became clear again, and the sunset was breathtaking.
Now, a day later, around ten o’clock, the rains returned.
The breeze today found its strength in the far-flung outer bands of Hurricane Irma, and it’s robust. I can hear the wind hitting the house in unrhythmic gusts. I just learned that Irma slammed a place called Cudjoe Key in the Florida Keys this morning.
What a difference twenty-four hours makes.
©2017 Susan Marie Molloy, and all works within.
The empty shelves that once held gallons of bottled water left me somewhat speechless three days ago. It was only then that the herd of glowing plastic stegosauruses, triceratops, and ankylosauruses became apparent. When those shelves were filled with water bottles, the toys were “invisible.” The panic of a possibly approaching hurricane reveals much, if we pay attention. These next hours and days should reveal more.
©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.
After a day of cleaning house, grocery shopping, gardening, walking the dogs, doing laundry, and all those little things that seem to get done only on Saturdays, I proceeded to accomplish a lot of relaxing.
I was laying across the bed, thinking about this and that, when a large black insect benignly and silently floated in my direction. It looked like a mosquito, but beefier and slower moving.
It came closer to me. The panicky, snapping wave of my hand didn’t deter it to a different flight path. No. Not at all.
The darned thing kept coming at me, floating gracefully and silently within my air space.
It was bound and determined to be my exercise partner, encouraging me to s-t-r-e-t-c-h my arms and twist my torso.
Again I waved, but this time with my entire arm from my shoulder to my fingertips, and with all the gusto I could muster.
My center of gravity changed. I saw the room turn. I kept going backwards.
I fell off the bed.
It was a graceful move.
It was acrobatic.
©Susan Marie Molloy, and all works within.