Searching for cool
Searching for cool
These Mexican Bird of Paradise speak for themselves.
Eerie. Silence. Fixed dinner, took it out on the patio, sat down. Realized I could hear myself chewing–pasta, not celery or carrots, pasta. What?!
Stopped eating. Listened. No insects chirping, no birds calling, no wind blowing.
Eerie. Quiet, cloud covered sky. No lightning, no thunder.
I looked for a tornado cloud, an explanation. None. This never occurs here.
The sound of no sound.
The words and tune to this old song float through my brain. Summer. Early morning yoga, coffee, horses fed, flowers watered, a lazy lunch: salad with feta, black beans with caramelized onions. Slouched, reading a book (The Return, Hasham Matar) on the sofa, feet crossed on edge of coffee table, patio doors open, I hear birdsong, the whir of black fans in the ceiling sea of white. Summer. Nap time. Awaken slowly, eyes watching cotton candy clouds barely move across an azure sky. Summer.
Remnants of summer remaining
Sunrise over canyon walls, hoot owl calling
Hints of autumn lurking
storm clouds at sunset
reflections in gold
sunrise over canyon wall
shimmering heat of a summer day
sun sinking behind cedars
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