Summer Sky

It's not only the smell and the open sky that make Boulder such a nice place. It's the ability to take a walk at night and encounter an animal larger than myself. To be able to walk in the rain while at the same time watching shooting stars fly by. It's about not hearing traffic and electricity.

It's amazing and it never gets old.

The Waiting Game

Sometimes you just find yourself watching. Not really thinking or composing, just watching. It is amazing how different moments can work together. A new face can match a past gesture or a small change of position can correct an off balanced moment. Perhaps it takes a solitary object to make moments meet. Here people were looking for their plane departure times on a monitor. I think the gestures between people match pretty well. I don't think this is because their surroundings were the same, but rather their sense of urgency was the same. Even while movements were different there was a similar feeling of anxiousness throughout.

Cherries

It is Thursday.
The water steams. I see the final crystals from the plastic bottle containing my instant coffee pour into a cup.
"Would you like room for milk?"
"Yes," I respond. I always do. "Cream and sugar, please."
"Oh sorry. We are out of milk."
"Oh. Well...just an extra spoonful of sugar should do the trick."
As I leave, chattering sounds regarding politics and global warming flow from recently depleted ceramic mugs of coffee painted with Chinese designs. A smile grows as I am rewarded with my decision to get my drink in a paper cup...to-go.
I notice my right shoe has faded slightly more than my left.
My car starts. A left, a right, another right and two more lefts. I pull into the second to last parking spot.
"Three bags of the mulch marked '30 percent off' please." I ask seconds before realizing the young man wearing a Home Depot shirt didn't in fact work at the Home Depot.
"Um, I don't work here," he smuggly responds while not actually looking in my direction.
"But you're wearing a Home Depot shirt," I mock trying to imitate his smart-ass manner.
"Dude. Heard of second hand?"
I suppose his name wasn't actually Shawn either. I turn around and walk away, not fast but not exactly slow. I think of all the wittier responses that could have been.
At the stoplight, the radio host annoys me with another pledge drive interruption. "I'd rather listen to traffic," I complain to myself as I roll down the window and firmly press the off button. Two lefts, a right, and two more lefts. I pull in. I'm out of change so I risk a ticket from the meter-maid.
I see Paul walking toward me on the other side of the street. I don't really want to talk, but I figure it isn't worth the hassle. I am hot and I am tired. I cross the street.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Got work today?" he asks.
No is my answer.
"Hmmm."
"I did pick some cherries," I respond with a selfish smile. Happy that I have something unique to say, my smile grows and I cross my arms with a certain cockiness.
"Wow. For a pie? I love those sour cherries," Paul inquires much to my surprise.
"No. I prefer them dried," I snap back. It's true. I always hated pies. I think it is the crust I don't like. I do like dried goods. They last longer.
"No way. Pies are much better. And take more care with preparation."
I try to hide my eagerness to leave and instead look at my feet, uncross my arms, and step on a bug. All cockiness has evaporated.
"Well I have a thousand more cherries. So maybe tomorrow." I am trying to avoid an obvious and painful debate. I regret my unique statement.
I make an bad excuse about going to a fake appointment I wish I did have in reality.
At home I look at my cherries. They are almost dried. Looking smaller and less appealing than I had hoped, I knew I should have made a pie.