collywobbles
“The trouble is, you think you have time.”
Yesterday.
Woke up to echos in the alleyway. My blue slippers dried in the splinters of sunlight and warm breeze. I picked off the knotty balls of fur and tossed them in the waste bin. I’m not wearing them on my feet. The linoleum is cold, and my toe separators are cold. I keep them in the fridge for ten minutes before spreading them between each toe. I wet my hair and wrists in the shower. My furthest extremities are cold.
No thing can cool my heart.
Breakfast is purple cherries and a slice of bread with jam. Blueberry. A cup of coffee with milk heated at the stove. I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on, so my latte was late. I ate sitting on the floor with the matted pillows and the breeze brought in the scent of kitty litter, and the entire event was a bit nauseating. I had a bite of the toast and two cherries. I drank all the coffee.
Yoga is a chakra-cleansing class and we chant and pose for the seven energy points along the spine: my throat scrapes and burns at the throat chakra. I am blocked in self-expression and voice. I have vision and execution when the creative projects are not my own.
I bike to the beach and spread my oiled body in the grains of sand on the linen blanket stained by the lotion used during my massage. I eat grapes and cheese and dry crackers and take tiny sips of water. I swim three times and my feet burn as if blistering in the sand. An announcer on the speaker that broadcasts in Spanish and English warns against prolonging time in the sun. The heat wave is dangerous for kids, and older adults; beach-goings should avoid drinking and stay inside from 1-4pm.
It’s 2:30 PM, and the mojito men swarm like fruit flies at the banana basket.
The menagerie is overwhelming at I leave at 5 PM when the music and cannibus overload my senses. The ocean is speckled by boats and I miss my time as a sailor though not enough to ever go back. I crave the solitude of the sea.
I cycle home slick with salt and sweat.
Dinner is lentils and salad and dessert is trail mix with chocolate and the cherries warm because I left them out on the counter. I spit the pits in a pretty dish and lay on the floor to align my spine against something hard.
Affirmation comes in many forms.
I fall asleep to sun-soaked dreams. Drunk from the heat.
What surfaces from the sloppy and sweet musings of my subconscious:
I will take my time.
Photo source.
