Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Crazy Hair Woman Resurfaces After Too Much Time in the Kitchen
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This morning, at 6:50 am, I turned off the alarm. My good intentions of getting to bed early so as to wake up fresh aren't working. Something (PBS's Latin Music USA, a sink full of dirty dishes, a good book of poetry) always seems to lure me into the depths of the eleven-o'clock hour, and the next thing I know, it's morning.
A rainy morning, not too dark, and still full of color. I know the winds are coming and the trees won't be able to hold on to their true colors for very much longer.
Which is probably a good thing.
It seems that now it's all I can do to stay on the road properly when I'm driving. Savage Plants, a nursery near our home, has the most amazing row of trees that glow crimson in any weather, and I'm not altogether sure why more accidents don't occur on our road this time of year. The reader board for Savage reads : "They are Fairview Flame Maples, and yes, we have them." I tell you, a row of these will pretty much knock your socks off.
So, I'm the deer in the headlights these days, the love-crazed possum crossing the road, the crazy hair woman who's realized she's left the house without checking her tresses before going public, one hand on the steering wheel and aiming a camera out a rain-soaked window on the way back from school. . .
It's time to write a poem.