It was late August and I sat on a bench
on the edge of Narragansett Bay.
The day was edging toward evening
and these teens caught my eye.
They walked barefoot on the edge of summer.
Before September, school, schedules.
On the edge, the precipice of adulthood.
The end of something.
And I got up and started walking
and walking and walking.
Over the edge.
Here’s a link to other Weekly Photo Challenge posts: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/category/photo-challenges/
This probably isn’t a good photo because you can’t see the contrast. But just imagine me — a middle-aged woman in capris, a turquoise shirt and flip-flops — excusing my way through this group of models. My daughter and I were playing tourist in the Hamptons on Long Island last weekend, and we walked into this little dress shop overflowing with models, photographers and lots of white wine and red lipstick. We knew we didn’t fit in, but no one told us to leave. I think they actually looked right through us — at least me.
Anyway, it was quite surreal, and, trust me, a great study in “contrasts.”
In the backyard
hydrangea change color daily,
casting off a cream for a light blue
for a deeper hue.
I took this photo on a highway in North Dakota, when I was driving alone from Fargo, ND, to Pierre, SD. It was a long ride, and I must have gone through at least three rainstorms, complete with strong winds. Finally, the sky cleared as the sun went down. I still remember how it felt like I wasn’t attached to the earth out there — especially later, when I visited Saskatchewan and Alberta. It was as if I could have fallen right into the sky.
Night Walk in East Providence
It takes three fingers
to bear half-moon’s swollen belly,
almost-ripe July night.
Clink of silverware
from open kitchen window,
cicadas in sync.
Jet’s landing gear down,
it slices Pawtucket Ave
and heads into Greene.
Breathe in grass, fireworks,
washing machine detergent,
swimming pool chlorine.
This is the early morning view from the home of my friend, Paula Krauss, which is on a small cove on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. She and her family have been spending their summers here for many years, and she graciously invites me up for a bit of heaven every year. In June, she will retire from teaching, and then return to her summer home and the call of the loons. I wish her well as she prepares to turn down this new path.
The best place in the world
was inside the hot vinyl belly
of a big, blue ’62 Chevy Bel Air.
Wedged in tight with Nancy,
squished between JeanandMary
who got dibs on window seats.
Dad was always behind the wheel,
KenandMike curled next to Mom.
Let’s make it late July twilight in 1963
coming home from fishing in Paullina,
where the kids jumped off a slimy dock,
caught bullheads and ate burnt hot dogs.
Let slides of stars wash across navy sky
through car windows cranked open wide
while car wheels shimmy and swerve
over dips and bumps on gravel roads.
Let Dad begin singing “Moon River”
in an aching tenor that the girls repeat.
And make sure the youngest nod off
in a woven nest of blood and bones.
Of course, let there be poking, pinching,
jealousies, desire and unspoken fears
because the best place in the world
was always a heart-breaking ride.
“Moon River” is still one of my favorite old songs because we used to sing it in the car. So maybe it’s sentimental rot, maybe the bickering won out, but it’s nice to remember those perfect childhood moments.