A busy busy Afternoon

A bee has just stung me between my toes on my left foot.

It hurts a little, but I feel greater regret about the bee than about myself.

The bee has died, while my discomfort will be gone by tomorrow.

It was busy sucking the last of the nectar out of the small blooms of clover, when my giant foot appeared. What was the bee to do ? 

It did whatever nature has equipped and conditioned her for.

I am reclining in a comfortable deck chair, just having come out of the crystal clear water of our pool.

Beside me, on a low table, a thermos of ice cold tea and the book in which I am currently engrossed.

It's Thomas Wolf's “You can't go home again”. An old one, but truly worth re-reading.

The roses sway in a gentle breeze and I can smell their scent.

Reason tells me that it is my imaginary power rather than my olfactory one which allows me this pleasure.

There are two Black- capped Chickadees atop our bird feeder and two Sparrows harvesting the seeds which have spilled onto the ground, now resting between the blades of grass.

The Chickadees have flitted off into the tree and I follow them with my eyes, but a silly little white cloud attracts my view. It just sits there, not moving, occupying the smallest space in a never ending field of blue sky.

I can feel the sun, making my skin tight on my cheeks, but I use no sun-screen lotion for fear of contaminating the water of our pool.

Doggy-Dog-Dog, our 14 year old Airedale Terrier has appeared out of nowhere and lazily stretches in the shade of a nearby umbrella.

Kiddy-Cat-Cat, this black witch, I swear she can walk through walls and closed doors, she, with the velvet silent paws and the white blaze on the throat of an otherwise pitch black body, sits just under the foot rest of my deck chair, and observes with apparent keen interest the goings on at and near the bird feeding station. 

I tell her: “don't even think about what you are thinking about.”

She just blinks at me as if to say: “Hey, you, don't forget, 

I am a cat ! And cats are naturally interested in birds.”

But then, apparently having lost interest in birds, she too curls up in the shade.

I let my glance drift from green lawn, to crystal water, to red roses, to blue blue sky.

The silly little white cloud is still hanging around. 

Like an exclamation mark in the sky.

Christin shows up with a watering can, giving relief to the thirsty roots of the roses

This, indeed, is a busy afternoon in my new life.

Bertstravels.