Storm Clouds

false friend,

nuage d'orage,

scent of distant rain.

here the land lies

parched,

arid,

empty

of all but dust

and hope

while the horizon

tantalizes,

teasing,

mocking,

and wells and reservoirs

run dry.

just a few drops

would soothe my thirst,

wet another week

of wishing,

hoping,

longing

for things that cannot be,
but no salvation

from the sky,

deus ex nubi,

(caritas),

will be mine

today.

seco

sitis

siccitas

I approach the empty cistern

with a storm cloud in my heart.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

55 - Cooped Up

It's a sunny day, and I am cooped up here, indoors, looking out the window at the blue sky and palm trees. The air conditioner blows cold against my skin and I huddle in my business suit, wondering why we bother holding conferences in such lovely, sunny places if we never get to go outside.

About Friday 55: Write a story in 55 words, then tell the G-Man!

Fragile

I put my ego in a box,
bubble-wrapped,
taped up well.

Safe.

With no legitimate way to feed it,
this seemed the best way.

But it got out again
(somehow)
and rampaged
through the streets,
leaving debris in its wake,
but damaging only itself.

I will have to collect it again,
wrap it in soft tissue,
and put it away,
nestled in foam peanuts,
surrounded by cardboard.

This time I will mark the box
so there will be no mistake.
I'll take my magic marker
(the purple one)
and in my most careful hand, write:

Fragile


This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

55 - Bagpiper

He plays outside the Palacio hotel, the only Mexican bagpiper for miles around. He spurns all offers of a steady gig. He has everything he needs, especially when a tired young mother stops to listen, tears in her eyes, then hands her boy a dollar. "Give this to the nice man."

Tonight he is rich.

About Friday 55: Write a story in 55 words, then tell the G-Man!

Mockingbird

I pause on the riverbank 

and listen to the mockingbird.

A dull plumage is no liability 

for an imposter

whose gift for mimicry is his badge 

and claim to fame.

In the darkening twilight he riffs on:

cardinal

grackle

sparrow

squirrel

and even the humble duck.

Oh little feathered jazz man,

how I love your repertoire!

Life is made of moments such as this.

This Three Word Wednesday post is in honor of a feathered entertainer on the San Antonio River.

55 - You Can't Go Home Again

It wasn't the strange car in the driveway; I had expected that. And it wasn't the yellow paint, although it came as a surprise. The trees were bigger, but much as I imagined them. No, what surprised me about my childhood home was just how small it was! Or have I simply grown since then?











About Friday 55: Write a story in 55 words, then tell the G-Man!

55 - Taco House

It wasn't much to look at: concrete floors, yellow walls, inexplicable disco music. But the corn tortillas were a miracle of softness and flavor. Now nothing else will do; no fancy restaurant with tablecloths and a specialty chef trained overseas, no over-hyped review can tempt them from the simple tasty charms of Eddie's Taco House.

Note: My husband and I love to go here when we are in San Antonio. When I first saw one of their corn tortillas, I thought for sure it was flour. OMG, so soft and tasty, unlike those cardboard ones you get at the store! Now I always order some to bring home with me.

About Friday 55: Write a story in 55 words, then tell the G-Man!