Episode 9: I Spy

for a preface, see the home page of my work stories: Paradise (aka The Job)

In the dining room, I spy some grungy little details:

super indelible lipstick stains on juice cup rims
a red "x" marking the only pan that doesn't heat-warp
a mop head on the floor to soak up a constant drip from the ceiling vent
a wedge of sheetrock missing from a doorway where the cart shaved it off
one burnt out bulb in the wall sconces
four clocks, all reading slightly different times
and a cupboard corner full of ownerless items:
   a black mug
   a white one with a blue stripe
   a squat, round vase
   a half-pint canning jar
   a floral-handled spoon
   a blue plastic cup.

This is not the rural Midwest of your homesteading blogs,
pristine white farmhouses and chickens and overalls.
This is where we are now.
Things are underfunded and worn out.
People are worn out and wearing out their complaints.

People with no place to be and no schedule to obey
asking sternly or frantically, mostly accusingly:
"Is my toast done yet?"

A River Run

The park was calling to me in the worst way yesterday, the last day of August. In a way it was the last hurrah of summer to get out jogging and photographing in a local park. It's been a very wet summer, so the water is still high in the river and the mosquitos are out in droves.

 

Minnesota may be the land of over 10,000 lakes, but it's also land of 10,000 millions of mosquitos. My bites are big as bagels, but it was worth it to have one last taste of August.

 

 

Prairie Town Jogging

 

The crunch of gravel or asphalt underfoot and the sweep of grass swaying in the breeze. Sumac and blazing star lend their color to the green of Minnesota summer.

 

Wild grapvines cover the roadside ditch in translucent bright green color.

Blazing star rises out of the grass in plumes of bright lilac.

 

A grove of poplars sway, their leaves rustling and shimmering.

Shade and sun mingle on a Minnesota summer afternoon.