Instead of starting my day down in my tomb-with-a-window basement office, the place I go to fulfill my daily quota of writing, I finished my coffee and headed outside. As soon as I stepped out the back door, a welcoming sunlight draped across my bare, albino legs like a big saffron sheet fresh out of the drier, a warm and affectionate note from a long-lost friend. My mind was still a little frozen from lack of sleep. Sad, foggy, and stiff from the cold of the deep black. I found my favourite chair and sank into its cradle, deep red cushions floating me above polished cedar. I shuffled my chair towards the lawn, still sparkling with morning dew and immersed myself completely in the sun. And I thawed.
Occasionally, I google "cabins in the woods" and daydream about places I think I can runaway. Then, something breaks through my fantasy state and I realize I would need an income, which leads me to google, "jobs in mountain towns". Realizing I wouldn't be able to afford makeup or hair color, I search: "Bland, gray haired ladies working at park services". Well, heck, with that sort of income and the cost of living by then, there goes the health club membership. Okay, so I google, "Crooked old ladies in the woods." Then I realize I wouldn't be rockin' a solid health insurance plan, which I would need if I were killing game for food. How about "Into the Geriatric Wild" ... Aren't you glad I'm not your financial planner?
I was trying to snap a photo of a mysterious Columbine that sprouted up in my front planter. I didn't plant it. I suspect renegade vermin poop. I figure, if deer are going to munch the heads off all my flowers, it seems only fitting that they might plant something in return.
Summer is tender. But I fear she is going to be late this year. I fear she wandered off to some tropical locale and cannot be bothered to return. I fear she is cavorting with some other lover, some other person who always looks beautiful—their brown toes sticking out of their sandals. I fear she's figured out that I have ugly feet.
The sky burnt herself red this morning. I watched a flock of black birds circle against her glowing skin, blue clouds silhouetted golden. I felt so solitary yet strong, against the enormity of what she offered to me.
Larger daisies are Osteospermum. I think that means "boner" in Latin. Weird, right? Sadly, they withered within hours. The garden center guarantees their plants, so I thought about returning them but I couldn't get past the part where I whisper to the clerk, These boner flowers aren't into me.
We now know the secret to global warming: dumb people like me who leave the furnace running with the windows open. I'm sorry, everyone. Maybe I can reverse it by driving with my air conditioning on and the windows down?
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