slept in until ten this morning with barely lucid awareness of M’s palms running sleepily up and down my back, melting away the icebergs in my spine.
lying crosswise on the bed with White Kitty’s back against his chest, he rubs White Kitty’s still pink, ultrasound shaven belly. i pet the forehead… fingertips to palm, fingertips to palm, like a giant kitty tongue. White Kitty purrs. Kitten adds himself to the snuggle train and suckles on his big brother’s arm. M is home from Sagamiono.
Grandview library, Luck Bros’, long walk on the trail to Whetstone park. filled our sunday with lovely things to fight off M’s jetlag. one of the fullest and nicest days we’ve had in a long time.
Luck Bro’s was idyllic today. sweet summer sun pooling on our window table. good coffee with not a trace of soy sauce. perfect chocolate chip cookies–sandy on the outside, gently chewy on the inside, creamy chocolate chips. a sophisticated cookie. we had to buy a second one. Terry Pratchett making me giggle. instagram keeping us company. children climbing slides and air-bicycling on playtoy zip lines across the street.
two little ones on the baseball diamond jettisoning handfuls of reddish dirt into the air, the motes of red parachuted and scattered, bursting into ghosts and blossoms by the wind. this is the magic of child eyes, finding art in a field of dirt.
almost forgot about those two little ones with their handfuls of magical dirt. something i would have thought indelible, would have liked indelible, almost lost to the ether. mistakenly categorized as inconsequential by the sifters in my subconscious.
drove home with the windows down, me at the wheel, singing nearly at the top of my lungs. uncharacteristically loud and unrestrained. M asked why i was yelling. i like being the driver on a late summer day.
found Neighbor Kitty waiting for us when we came home. picked him up, showered him with love, and teased him with a stick. sitting with him while he lapped Newman’s canned food this morning, i decided he was 95% ours. since he is 100% our neighbor’s, he must be 195% kitty.
barks greeted us from the neighboring yard. learned from one of the shy, considerate boys next door shushing her that the grey and black-spotted, floppy-eared puppy’s name is V—.
went for a long walk on the Olentangy trail, northwards, the unusual direction for our habits. there are hundreds of blackened pins and staples on the wooden pole at North Broadway and Milton. Some of the exquisitely domed ones seem outside the realm of my memory, as if they might be older than my 35 years. that wooden sentry an inadvertent keeper of archeological secrets.
came home from our long evening walk, having fed the local mosquitos but happy. met a friendly brown and white puppy on the way back, coat all silk and velvet, who trotted over for a sniff and lick of our hands. late and tired. but still, my thoughts were of what to cook, not how to avoid the kitchen. feeding us from the market has become habit. taking care of us has grown easier.