There is nothing to blog about. Nothing but the wind and the rain and the defiant Sumac tree as it braces itself against the gale. You will mellow soon Sumac tree and I will stand in the magical brink of late Fall and sip in your beauty and I will want to freeze frame your yellow and orange hues. Your gift to me.
There is nothing to blog about. Nothing but Genesis coming from a stereo down the hall. Haven't heard that in awhile - 'blood on the rooftops, Venice in the Spring, The streets of San Francisco, A word from Peking............' Memories stir. Sedona, yes, Anodes in reverse! Red rock burnt by the sun and a swim in the creek, naked underneath a cottonwood tree, blistering heat.
There is nothing to blog about. Dogs too big for the house. One comes to me, nuzzles his nose on my lap and says,
-Mary, write about me.
- No, go away, I'm writing, can't you see. Shoo........
There is nothing to blog about. A question. A voice.
-What do you need at the store? Green Onions? Soap?
-You decide, can't you see, I'm writing.
Voices in kitchen come to me like hailstones on a tin roof.
Water slices from a faucet, fingers tap tap on the kitchen table. Slush.
There is nothing to blog about. Another voice.
-What's for dinner?
-Sweet and Sour.
-Sweet and Sour what?
- and Rice?
-Yes and prawn crackers.
-Now, for god's sake stop tapping on the table.
A coffee pot clatters, Bialetti steel hits ceramic. A whistle louder than the wind hovers in the air.
There is nothing to blog about. Left hand allows the pen to slip from my grasp, my hand lies open, dulled and heavy. With searching. More tapping, slushing, music, voices, wind, bells, rain, trees, questions,memories. & sometimes answers. And there is nothing to blog about. Nothing at all.