Cirrus Clouds

Boy, yesterday was brutal. Was doing so well with my break-up, then BOOM. Cried out a ton of memories. It was a zombie day. Good for nuthin’ but tears.

In better shape today. Took myself to the community pool this morning for a swim. The water was unexpectedly chilly. Shock therapy! Guess the nights have been a few degrees cooler since my last swim.

As I did my slow backstroke, I looked up and saw cirrus clouds painted across a bright blue sky. Cool weather clouds. Way up high. I love cirrus clouds.

They gave me hope–hope that there really will be an end to south Florida’s long, hot summer, hope for an autumn filled with new beginnings. Just hope.

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The Oak Leaf

I was about to open my fridge yesterday–
the door’s like a big bulletin board–
cute magnets, family pics, pizza phone numbers.
Covered with stuff I rarely take the time to look at.
All of a sudden I saw a long, jaggedy oak
leaf I’d taped on there a couple years ago.
It fell from a tall tree one windy day while
I was sitting in a pasture belonging
to the man I loved. I watched the falling
leaf spiral around on the wind
before landing gently as a feather,
picked it up and brought it home with me,
wrote a poem about it.
Seeing it so unexpectedly six days
into my break-up with the
owner of that oak tree,
gave my heart a little stab.
I’m going to leave the leaf there
for a while.
Maybe even forever.

The First Few Days

I’m watching ballet on PBS tonight. He knows I love ballet. He’s probably watching it and thinking of me. Like I’m thinking of him thinking of me.  But maybe not. Maybe he’s asleep. He always pooped out early watching PBS shows in his special ergonomic desk chair. His head would nod and sometimes almost hit the desk. It used to worry me. But eventually he’d get up and head for bed, with me not far behind.

It’s hard to think of him but I always am. That’s how it is right after a breakup. You don’t want to think about them but it’s all you do. Perverse. Then one day you realize you haven’t thought about them for a couple hours. And then you start thinking.

Just takes time. Trying not to second guess myself, not to backslide. Hoping he’s OK even though I have no right to–I’m the one who pulled the plug after all.  Did I do the right thing?  Will I ever love again?  Be strong, girl, don’t look back. And yet I do. Perverse.

Irma

Gearing up for the storm.
Lots of big trees around here
and this lady’s packing a wallop.
Tried to think of everything.
Jugs of water, stuff to eat,
batteries, lanterns, candles,
backpack packed, shelters googled,
everything out of the yard,
even made a couple DIY sandbags.
Got a bike helmet for my noggin,
double-bagged my favorite
clothes in watertight plastic.
Important docs and baby pix
in the dishwasher.
My body’s tired of hurricane prep.
Tomorrow I’ll duct tape the windows.
Just in case.

My Sister’s Poem

I touched the moon;
it was soft
and dusty.
I knew it would be.

Susan Cowart Norbut
1992

Voyeur

Back from the neighborhood pool. There’s a married couple there who are regulars. Nice folks. He’s a friendly whale, talks to everyone, swims to ease his back troubles.  She’s big and beautiful, long auburn braid; placid, patient, smiling. I like the way they are with each other. There’s a smoothness about them.

So after getting out of the pool I plopped myself on a reclining pool chair to air dry under the big umbrella for a while.  It felt good to lie there with a little breeze blowing and my eyes closed. Peaceful.  The auburn-haired woman sat not far away under the umbrella and before long her husband climbed out of the pool and  joined her.

As I lay there just a few feet away from them–there but not really there–they started talking. She told him about a Power Point project she was working on; he made suggestions.  Then they moved on to the eclipse coming that afternoon. He’d be on a customer call, would miss it. Said he’d be working this evening. Yellow rice and beans when he got home.

I just laid there with their harmonious words flowing over me like the breeze.

Butterfly in the Rain

I woke up from an afternoon snooze on my living room sofa to a gray Florida rain.  Not a downpour, but steady. Everything was gray– the sky, the rain, even the tree in front of my living room window looked gray.

Between my window and the tree there was a butterfly–looking very out of place–a butterfly as gray-looking as everything else, scrambling up the air, then down, then up again.

The rain kept beating it down and it kept fluttering back up. Over and over. An exercise in futility. Why didn’t it just land somewhere and wait it out?  You wouldn’t think a butterfly would be so insistent, or so strong.