You met me at the river’s side. It was early afternoon and I’d just walked for an hour in the sun. It was August, still winter, but the pavement was hot and my black jeans were tight and itchy and absorbing the heat, I guess as I should have expected them to. You liked those jeans, had told me they fitted well, so I wore them, even though I knew it was warm out and had taken sunglasses, which I usually forget to do even in December or January. You couldn’t possibly know how sore my feet were. I smiled serenely when you arrived.
Monday, August 3, 2009
some afternoons
You met me at the river’s side. It was early afternoon and I’d just walked for an hour in the sun. It was August, still winter, but the pavement was hot and my black jeans were tight and itchy and absorbing the heat, I guess as I should have expected them to. You liked those jeans, had told me they fitted well, so I wore them, even though I knew it was warm out and had taken sunglasses, which I usually forget to do even in December or January. You couldn’t possibly know how sore my feet were. I smiled serenely when you arrived.
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1 comment:
I love your writing. I don't know what it all means a lot of the time, but it's so bloody readable.
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