Liz Swain 4:24 p.m., May 24
It's 630am in Carlsbad and the sun is just waking up? the frost ices the weed whacked rail side ecological preserve. the rabbits are hiding, those illusive protected frogs are no where in site. I prop my coffee cup on the railing, balance the lid and straw atop my backpack, and pull the thermos out of the side pocket.
I should've set the cup on the arm of the concrete bench but I'm feeling like a bit of wildness this morning so I'll take my chances. the Wolfgang Puck k-cup brew streams into the paper cup like a waterfall, the heat causing mist to rush towards my downturned face. will I need to pay for facials this winter or will this do?
I snap the top back on and lift it towards my lips. Yum. I'm wearing real socks today, knee socks with stripes - black and grey. I look up, survey the landscape in the hole, and notice I'm smoking. wow, I quit 10, no 11 years ago, but the chill in the air is giving me the exhale clouds I was so addicted to back then. turning to the left I exhale, straight ahead again, now to the right. smoking in the dawn.
quiet today, seems like people running late this morning, not wanting to brave the cold. I want to share the smoking discovery, but there's no one on my end of the platform yet.
"I taught that to my 3 year old nephew" my friend said, along with the arm to mouth movement, he always looked like he was mad when he did it. my sister , his mother, was mad. " What are you thinking you childless spinster!!