Friday, April 11, 2008

spring break memoirs

Sitting on a two-person hammock she swayed beneath the now-familiar sky. At first, as anyone could recall, the night sky was almost overwhelming with its unfamiliar constellations, its sometimes battalions shooting stars. But then one could find that old reliable big dipper, even like here when turned upside down. A useless vessel satisfying to all familiars... celebrate bathing; taking nothing but meteor showers for days at a time, hair left unwashed and curled like conch.

"Are you listening?" she asked aggressively to the child playing on the veranda, as away of puncturing her diatribe. 

The child, called FV (short for Ferdinand Five) would ignore its witch-watcher as usual, digging with what appeared to Misty as Mindlessness. It was, in fact, sculpted with profound ingenious activity by that young girl. Some things were meant as mysterious, so holding a small plastic shovel in blue and yellow meant for digging sand off a beach she sat, leg dangling bent at the knee over the ledge.

'If I smoke one more cigarette, I am going to have a heart attack," declared Misty to no one in particular. 

Ferdinand justified her words completely so causing the alignment radiation, perfect squares of paragraph.

Mother moaned for that teenaged feeling, and everyone could see the iced cream in perfect future. 

The past participles and we wander into the sunset, sighing. 

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