Two days dirty, soil encrusted even in my ears. Bone weary tired and sweaty, stopping now and then to settle in the shade with watered ice and one book or another for just a while. The sun so hot, hot to burning even in the early morning. I’ll go out at eveningtime, I say; don’t because I am by then so tired with arms that cannot even lift a trowel to plant petunias in a pot.
Today I stopped when hearing telltale sounds of a jet coming into Bradley. Did it several times today and counted: thirty seconds minimum from first sound to the last; fifteen seconds minimum to watch each streak across the sky. Yesterday I stopped because the world was being blown away; three seconds total sound, two seconds’ worth of sight. Air Force jets zooming round the state to highlight Memorial Day Parades. His wing tips almost touching trees.
Tomorrow I will once again play in the dirt.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
As long as no one needs to pull a snail out of your ear. Then we’ll know you’ve gone to far–although it might shut out the sound of the jets. 😉