Scent of Talcum
A humid afternoon , in the middle of August, has nothing much to commend about it. I can hear the humming of air conditioning coming from both sides of a familiar old street. It's too hot for even the ardent gardener to be out and about, and sidewalks are deserted, while children are herded into backyard wading pools. Clouds are softly framed in bands of charcoal grey.
I stand on the corner, waiting for the light to change, and waiting for cars to allow me to cross the street.
rush hour traffic...
bees circle the elm trees with
no notice of me
I approach the old Victorian, and can't help but notice how painted shutters need repair, and the garden needs weeding. Wild devil-grass is taking over the wind-whipped faces of dreary, old zinnias. Seeing it so unkempt, makes me a little sad
Drooping over the sidewalk, thirsty roses lean over to greet me, as I ring the bell. The old woman opens the door and suddenly her unbridled joy upon greeting me, has put sparks in eyes, and softened her face, while my worrisome mood evaporates, like a freshly-washed day. I'm quickly ushered into the talcum-scented foyer of friendship.
a wilted blossom
still beautiful in my palm....
new lines in her face
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7/19/15 For Contest Sponsored by Scott Thirtyseven
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