on observance.

The river finally burst it's banks today.  It has been threatening for a couple of weeks, the black water (it is almost always night time when I cross the bridge) flirting with the snow, but with the last two days of rain, it finally happened when the ground had lost it's pale shroud.  Palely glimmering puddles had spilled onto the adjoining fields, their shade missed matching that of the metallic navy car in front of me by the thickness of a page.


I checked all these things because of my inability to observe & regurgitate in today's corporate workshop.  Perhaps because I had to digest information aurally, or whether the consultant/trainer's Texas drawl and lack of cultural awareness set me off, I was scratchy and irritated most of the afternoon.  Hey, at least I wasn't nodding off!  I picked fault with the statements she made and whispered under my breath to colleagues when she was talking, so I guess she was equally as resentful of my presence as I was, and it was no surprise that she picked me for the final role play of the day.  I dazzled the room with my consummate performance of a concerned manager.


Hoping to avoid yet more beautiful visual descriptions for today's small stone, all I can come up with is:-


Arrogant,
chrysalis skin splits
not a mocking butterfly
but a consummate
actress emerges.

Washing day...

Quite often when I went down to the washing room, the cotton lined wicker basket was standing in front of the machine in the corner by the drain; sometimes it stood there for days on end with the same load untouched inside.
I had never seen the machine's owner, although I had started to build up a picture of the person through looking at the washing swirling around through the glass door, I assumed it was a single woman as you could see frothy underwear, and no dull dark boxer shorts and the like.
Her underwear was a tangle of coloured bra straps, pinks, greens, reds and blacks; exotic colours and with matching scraps of knickers too; my underwear was plain, white or that dirty peach colour often called flesh, whereas my skin colour was closer to that of white washing that has greyed with age.
Today when I looked the red bed-linen was in there, robins and tomatoes swirling around and I pictured the petite dark haired girl that would lie in it, brown strands whorled across the pillow, hazel eyes peeping through the hair as if challenging me; although I think I preferred the greenish turquoise set, reminiscent of blonde-tressed mermaids and silver slivers of scales.
Footsteps echoed on the marble tiled staircase above and I quickly retreated to the storage cellars beyond the laundry room so as not to have to my imagination impaired by the sight of another ordinary person.
I wondered if that person ever wondered about my washing; the mystery of the fading rusty stains on my overalls.

Seville

His head upturned, showing the creamy fur at throat and breast, flashing me his downturned grin and perked ears.  He chirps rather than miaows, "notice me, notice me"
I let him Outside, he minces across the patio to the snow clotted pot plants, careful to keep his tummy fur dry.