It's taken a while to settle in, get my bearings and begin writing again. I've missed connecting with you. I'm glad to be back. North is still home. North is familiar glossy black sugar-eating ants rather than Florida's red fire ants. They sting. A few black crazy ants dance if you get too close and do not sting.
I feel at home when I take the lid off the compost pile and see this piece of disintegrating fabric. How long will it take for those embroidered flowers to disappear?
Someone on my block has put out books-- for the taking. There were no takers, not before rain soaked the books, certainly not after. None of the books interested me--pop, pulp, poor.
The next morning some of the books ended up in the gutter. Teenage marauders?
Small ruins are easy to take.
Tell me how you get your bearings.
Hm - wonder what the Tom Clancy book was like. When you get your bearings (writing, of course), would enjoy hearing/seeing more about your particular North.
ReplyDelete... by relishing wise delights like this.
ReplyDeleteAny poems?
John
Welcome back home, Miriam. Though I read of interest of your life in South Beach, I found myself toe-tapping until you were back up North, but why oh why when it is 93 degrees??? Much love, xoxo
ReplyDeleteSigns--will do!
ReplyDeleteOK, P.C.--there are some new poems. Thank you for checking in.
A scorcher, Vespersparrow. Tomorrow a break in the weather. All good things!
Welcome home, mim! Tonight, fog horn, salty mist. Maybe your beach in Florida had this wonderful kelpy smell? I hope so....and I hope we can rally to have coffee in davis square with the Melissas (X2) soon, yes?
ReplyDeleteYes, for coffee, Susan.
ReplyDeleteNo keply smell off the ocean in South Beach. More like wine, salty wine.