Days that End in Y
There was that Wednesday when I walked late, later than usual, at that weird hour when you can see both the sun and moon–the hour mythology took away. That was the Wednesday so windy and cold, the Wednesday where I started thinking about Palm trees, and how they are perfectly suited for life in the tropics where the winds blow faster than Santa Ana could ever dream. Windy and cold for me! I said when the burlas trickled in. In a few months it will be hot for you, you’ll see.
I kept walking with my head down against the wind for me and thought about dinner, homework, baseball, bills, words, the fish tank, weight, bad ankles, gray roots, bedrooms, paint, buying gas, and books.
Then there was that Tuesday when I walked not too early and not too late. Right on time, a Robert Southey kind of day. That was the Tuesday so bright and crisp, warm enough for a light jacket, a tank top if you are not a windy for me.
I kept walking with my head down, not because it was windy for me but because I walk with my head down. I looked for things. I looked for flowers, grass, cracks, words, and colors like purple, orange, yellow, pink, and blue. I really wanted blue, but to see that I needed to look up.
Palm trees were made for this, the days that end in Y. They stand tall until it’s time to sway and bend but never break.