rain-speckled wind clears the cobwebs
i smile to the sun

everything readjusts to fill the emptiness of time

the distractions busy you

and allow you to put that which is not in sight

slowly out of mind 

(as the saying goes)

the spaces grow smaller

the gaps fewer

and the distance greater

pasta

the taste of garlic, roasted to perfection by accident, breaks through all the other ingredients to delight my tongue.

a handful of stones

Am very pleased to say that October 15th's small stone appeared in the handful of stones blogzine on the 15th of November.  (there's a bit of symmetry there that I didn't see until just now!)

Another one is scheduled for December.  :)

one safe place

unexpected company

My luxury for the weekend: a creamy, ripe avocado.
A moment's hesitation before I split it open to share
it won't last as long now
but it will be twice as appreciated

the perfect tension of the surface jiggles as another drop from the tap falls into the pan of water that it has been filling, patiently, one drop at a time, all night.  I watch the water bubble become fuller and fuller, wondering how much it can take before it bursts and spills over.  And then begins again, like it's done before. 

Destination: Unknown

The woman at the ticket window contradicts everything I was told about the journey.

Different time, different route, different stopping points.

Nervous.

But what she says makes sense

I trust I'm understanding her

I trust that she's understood me.

I buy my ticket.

The driver knows my stop

I breathe easier

and sit in seat 34.

Seat 33 strikes up conversation

He overheard me speaking to the driver

my stop is about 30 minutes after his

Reassured, the nervousness fades.

Now the man who took our tickets at the bus door comes on board

He calls out seat numbers and tells them they must get off.

He calls my number

Recoge sus cosas y baje, mi amor.

I do what I'm told

not understanding

Nervous again.

33 joins me outside

we wait.

Clustered outside the departing bus

we're told that the rains have washed out part of the highway further south

we have to take a different bus that will take us the other way around

1 and 1/2 hour to wait.

I buy lunch

a young man sits across from me

devouring greasy, fried chicken with his fingers.

I eat my rice and beans with knife and fork.

His eyes are indifferent to his surroundings

he's seen it all

but when he talks to me

everything I say opens his eyes wider

as if all my responses are a surprise.

14.30

and I'm back on the bus

seat 18 now

Nervous again.

I see 33 board

he smiles and sits further back

Reassured again.

The other passengers are talking

there's been an accident in the mountains.

The engine starts and we pull out of the station

the girl next to me crosses herself

and falls asleep.

meeting the neighbours

twin beagle puppies, an old wheezy calico and the owner of the knitting shop all say hello to me on my way home from the office.

giant's remorse

A few weeks ago, I set my purse on the floor of an office on the second story.  Several hours later, it was full of ants who had managed to smell and discover the sandwich that I had stored in there for lunch.  Not only did they deprive me of my lunch, but spent the rest of the afternoon biting me. 

I spent all afternoon being annoyed with the ants.
Little monsters.

When I got home that evening, I sat at my kitchen table and a single, injured ant limped off my sleeve, struggled around the table for a few moments and then died in front of me. 

Wounded. 
Alone. 
Taken 100 miles away from its brethren 
By me,
who could make another sandwich.   

the cleaning lady and I go shopping together.  We pick out soap, scrubbers, and a variety of cleaning implements that are not familiar to me.  Even mopping the floor seems to need some translation.  Two types of rags hang next to each other on the shop wall.  I tell her to choose which one she needs.  "Whichever one says it's for the floor," she tells me, "I can't read."