Saturday afternoons on the porch sitting close to the railing to be in the warmth of the sun. It wasn’t a hot sun. There was a thin quality to the sunlight. It filtered through a veil of chiffon thin clouds. At times it became more intense. Pleasantly warmer like a blanket being dropped over her. The warmth competed with the chill of the breeze. She was a child of the South, longing for the heat and sunshine. It was rarely warm enough for her here. But by the same token it was rarely too cold either.
She missed the snow and ice storms. It was too moderate here. There should be rage and power in the weather. Rain should fall down in bursts, not arrive in meek mists. Winter should bring cold and snow. The ground should freeze. Life should change with each season. When there is no change in the season you stay in a rut.
Modern city living separates us from nature. It takes us away from those changes that keep us changing. How dull and pointless modern city life has become. Go to work, come home, go out for entertainment, come home, sleep and do it all again. The fight for life in the city seemed for a fight against boredom.
© Nancy Sparks 2013
I think my cat is part dog. She’s lying on the floor at my feet. She took an attack posture when somone walked their dog in front of my house. She once tried to attack the neighbor’s dog when Jessica stopped to chat while walking Rex. She’s a family oriented cat. She worries when she senses that a member of her family is sick.
She doesn’t like the girl next door. I can’t say that I blame her. I don’t think I like the girl next door either. She’s a sneaky little girl. I don’t like sneaky people. She’s lied to me before and smiled her little innocent smile. It doesn’t work on me. Folks who smile those kinds of smiles are usually up to something. This little girl seems spoiled to me. She’s a manipulator. I wonder if she realizes that she’s run into someone who’s not a social person, who’s more adept at using woods instinct than social etiquette. But even I know it’s rude to push someone aside and try to go into their house. You don’t go into someone’s house unless you are invited.
I think the little girl is nosy. She’s part of the entitled group of Americans. Oh not the poor..not those entitled people that politicians are always shouting about. No, I’m talking about the people who think that they are a bit more special than other people. They think the rules don’t apply to them. No food allowed in the pool area? “Well, we’re having a little party. It’ll be OK.” No double parking? “But I’m just dropping off one book and I’m late for my tennis lesson so I can’t walk from the parking space 100 feet away.”
These entitled people are the ones who feel they are entitled to break the rules. It’s usually an affliction of those a bit older who have, at least in their minds, become a success. Lately it seems to be creeping down the age bracket.
© 2013 Nancy Sparks
Today is a new day. Today I sit on the porch, my feet in the sun. The sound of a lawn mower making this not the perfect afternoon. Without the lawn mower, I’m left with the sounds of a plane droning overhead., a buss, a bee in the rosemary.
Sometimes it’s nice to just sit and name the sounds. That sound to the left is wind blowing the rose leaves together. They make a scaping sound. Or perhaps it’s not the rose leaves, maybe that’s the dry rattle of the hydrangeas. I haven’t trimmed the old blossoms off. They make a sound like sheets of paper rustling together. The passenger jet makes a deeper throatier sound, like the difference between a teenage pop singer and a mature torch singer. That tinkling sound is the cat. Not her bell but her ID tag and vaccination tag clicking together. That buzzing is just that, a bee bussing as it moves from flower to flower in the rosemary bus.
I always thought of bees as beetles with wings but they’re really not like that. Bees are fuzzy. They look almost as though they have fur.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t live in the suburbs. There’s too much human noise or noise caused by human actions. Would that dog be barking if it weren’t bored? Would he be barking if the kids next door weren’t teasing him? Again humans causing the problems that block the sounds of nature.
Trees squeak. We always read about mice squeaking but trees squeak too. Not all trees but he one in my backyard definitely squeaks. It’s not something living in the tree that causes it to squeak. It’s the limbs rubbing together that squeak. Isn’t that how crickets make their chirping sound, rubbing their legs together?
I once had a boss who swished when she walked. That was in the days when ladies wore dresses and pantyhose. She was a bit overweight and her thighs rubbed together. Thus, when she walked the pantyhose rubbed together making a swishing sound when she walked.
© 2013 Nancy Sparks