May 2023

Books and Covers and Topsoil and Flat Tires

/ wvfurandroot / Leave a comment

Fifteen bags of topsoil, 9 cubic feet, each just fit into Monte Carlo’s trunk.  They filled the trunk and I had to make sure they were stacked just so to get the trunk to close completely.  I was on my last trip.  I had done the math earlier in the week and deduced I needed 75 bags of topsoil.

Photo by Christer Ehrling on Unsplash

One trip at a time.  I went to the Lowe’s with an empty trunk, went to Lawn & Garden, stood in line, bought 15 bags, went back to my car, drove to the loading zone, and watched two, weary guys load my trunk.  I didn’t tip them.  In retrospect, I probably should have.

I would then drive home, back the car up to the garden fence, and unload the 15 bags, my bag aching more with each bag.  Each bag weighs 40 lbs.

I was on my last trip.  I stopped at Sonic to celebrate with an ice cream sundae.  I used most of the little bit of cash I had to tip the waitress on roller skates.

I pulled out onto Route 60 which instantly narrowed to two lanes as it approached my town of Ona.  There was nothing on the sides of the road but forest and ravines.  No place to pull over.

I heard and felt the familiar flop flop flop of a tire gone flat. 

I groaned.  And nearly cried.

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Glimmer

/ wvfurandroot / Leave a comment

Early mornings on the balcony of the rented condo.  I have, quietly so others can sleep, made a pot of coffee, and poured a cup.

The cool morning air ruffles the hem of my nightgown and I sip coffee as the sun rises.  Its warmth matching the colors of the sky – red and orange and gold – glimmers of light bouncing off the water.

My skin is tight and pink from yesterday’s sun and my hair is wild from restful sleep to the rhythm of the tide. I smell like coconuts and vanilla.

I get up for a second cup of coffee and my phone.  I want a photo of this sunrise, just like yesterday and just like tomorrow.  Each seems a mystery just for me.  From darkness comes light and then color and then awe.  I try to capture it never quite succeeding.  I should get the good camera, but I’m too lazy to fool with lenses and aperture and fstops.  The morning is too easy, too wrapped in zen for doing.

Every day, on the balcony, bearing witness to the glimmers of peace.  Of hope.  Of tranquility. Steeped in a cup of good coffee, its warmth echoing the sun. Every year the journey to the beach with good friends.  Laughter and good food and strong sun.  The occasional storm in which the mysteries of the universe ramp up the glimmer and it explodes, wiping the sand clean of footprints.

Witnessed from the balcony – my place in the early morning, my place in the evening.  I begin and end my days with glimmer – sunlight on the water, moonlight on the water, the phosphorescence of breaking waves.

Glimmer.