It’s only 9:30 in the morning and it’s already 83°. So it looks to be another hot and sweaty one. But that breeze from yesterday, is still blowing out of the southeast. So I have a little faith it won’t be as humid as it could be. I got up around five o’clock this morning, checked my messages, and read my paper. Nothing much going on, other than the patients still running the asylum.
I went into town around seven, picked up a few groceries for the week. Then came home and got two loads of clothes washed. Now I’m sitting under the sycamore tree desperately hiding from the sun. But as the sun rises into the trees, I’m reminded of my construction days running heavy equipment on this island in the Savannah River. We’d get there before dawn, fuel up our equipment, then sit on top of our DJBs while they warmed up, and watch the sunrise.
Looking out across the river the city was just waking up. Container ships were making their way to port, while the lights of the city reflected across the water. Memories are often simple reminders of long forgotten truths. That as hard as the work was, working daylight to dusk. There were still quite satisfactions to be found in the day.
As I feel myself waste away under this relentless heat. I still smell the ripening figs, watch the cat pounce on the leaves, and in the distant hear the noise of a trash truck. All reminding me that this too will eventually become a distant memory. To be locked away and remembered when more troubles come my way.
I went into town around seven, picked up a few groceries for the week. Then came home and got two loads of clothes washed. Now I’m sitting under the sycamore tree desperately hiding from the sun. But as the sun rises into the trees, I’m reminded of my construction days running heavy equipment on this island in the Savannah River. We’d get there before dawn, fuel up our equipment, then sit on top of our DJBs while they warmed up, and watch the sunrise.
Looking out across the river the city was just waking up. Container ships were making their way to port, while the lights of the city reflected across the water. Memories are often simple reminders of long forgotten truths. That as hard as the work was, working daylight to dusk. There were still quite satisfactions to be found in the day.
As I feel myself waste away under this relentless heat. I still smell the ripening figs, watch the cat pounce on the leaves, and in the distant hear the noise of a trash truck. All reminding me that this too will eventually become a distant memory. To be locked away and remembered when more troubles come my way.
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