Just a Little Pin Prick..

Tempest Chronicles Day 20

For some odd reason it seems like the sun appeared earlier than usual today. Probably because it’s actually making an appearance instead of just phoning it in. Outside the sky feels like one is in St Peter’s Cathedral in that the clouds are towering all around us but there’s a soccer pitch sized patch of blue that the light comes through.

I feel like it was the same formation last night because as we began our last walk of the day, there was a large flicker of lightening when we had just rounded the half block away from the front door, and even though there was absolutely NO thunder, Ed got wide eyed and spun around to drag me from the pile of dead palm fronds he was peeing on to return home. His nickname today is Big Chicken, a moniker he wears proudly.

The streets are deliciously Quiet, but knowing that there’s not something tropical headed our way it’s a comforting Quiet, everyone is nestled where they should be and away from us.

The peace is ruined by a lady with safety orange soled kicks and the Rachael haircut who declares to us: “Oooooooo it’s Sooooooooo Hot.” I notice that for some reason she has drug out all the first of the O’s in her annoyingly obvious declaration and even though I want to reply with a modicum of hatred, I value the Quiet even more and I head forward without any acknowledgement.

“Hey cutie…” she says to Ed as she’s folding her tissue.

“She’s not going to be happy until someone speaks to her.'“ I think between gritted teeth pulling him closer to me.

“You’re a pretty one.” she continues.

By this time we have passed her and I don’t have to worry about being close enough for Ed to try and befriend, so I take the last sip from my mug and we cross Chartres Street to ascend the rusty rainbow.

When we get to the top, we can see there’s a tanker, container, sort of hulking ship cutting through the river, headed out of the port instead of the usual into it. By the time we reach the optimum viewing point, we notice how the tug boats do sort of a relay, passing off one to the next on the tanker’s escort to bigger waters.

I probably need an atlas or map or some sort of picture of the adjacent waterways to understand exactly what’s happening, but I suspect it isn’t headed up the Mississippi with a ship load of sweet crude.

Walking down the paved path in the park, the still heavy air requires more effort than usual to inhale. Last night’s cosmic electrical display must have put some vibrancy in the trees and overgrowth because the leaves look illuminated. The entire scene is so static that I feel like we’re strolling in an Ansel Adams photograph.

But the Quiet…..the Quiet is invigorating. I can even hear Ed’s nails faintly clicking against the pavement.

I suspect that the other walkers (and there’s only a total of 2 in the whole park) are as excited as I because no one punctures it with a salty Good Morning or a redundant comment on the temperature, it’s all just blissful Quiet.

That is until we get out of the park and down to the surrounding neighborhood.

From about a block or so away, the fog from the BBQ joint starts unfurling out of the smoke stack. We can smell the thin layer of pork fat that hovers over the empty lot between us and them and in a taunting nod to autumn there’s a large well formed pumpkin sitting at the edge of their pit area. I want to feel cooled by it but instead it just reminds me of how long we have to go to Halloween. But still the Quiet……Not even a crow seems to want to disturb.

As we cross Royal Street down France on the way home we notice the car with its’ windows down sitting on the corner. As we get closer, both doors open and the Cheech and Chong sized cloud of weed smoke meanders up to join the BBQ vapor. A ruddy round faced bowl cut gal looks over towards us and makes the decision to share her opinion.

“Your dog is so FUCKING cute!!!!!” her voice sounds like a glass jar of screws being rolled along a gravel pit.

I nod in her direction which is clearly not enough.

“I said…..your dog is so FUCKING cute!!!”

“Thanks.” I say waving and veering off to the left chasing my Quiet.

“Why you gotta be such an asshole?” she calls after us. “I’m trying to be nice.”

So I turn around.

I think about how I am constantly accused of not being nice, how people feel the need to always let me know that I need to be smiling. I need to just “be nice”. I decide then and there, that my idea of nice and hers may differ but we can still bridge the gap and agree to disagree.

“I’m probably being an asshole yes, but that in no way negates from the fact that you are an idiot.” I say, virtually wrapping myself in Tibetan monk saffron superiority and treading softly towards my beloved Quiet.

“DAAAAAAAAAAMN………” is about all she can say.

I can taste the victory coated in rendered BBQ smoke and it’s pretty delicious.

By the time we get home there are 3 crows up on the wire simultaneously calling for us to move along and let them have their way with the rotisserie chicken carcass that the man in the art lofts has set outside for them to enjoy.

“I thought the crows were on our side.” I say to Ed already missing my beloved Quiet.

Vitals: 87 degrees with a humidity of 77% and an 8MPH breeze makes it feel like you woke up from your nap to realize that you left your Father’s Day Ice Cream cake in the back seat of the car you borrowed from your nit-picking cousin.

19 Days down

164 to go………