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A weekend full of stimuli
Jul. 15th, 2002 08:10 amI realized that this weekend was full of different stimuli for me. Friday night was pretty bland, but the rest of the weekend rocked.
Saturday:
The musty smell of old books with old knowledge, wet dogs and hot horses. The cool, mysterious smell of old things packed away; some useful, some not, waiting to be brought out again. Mildewed leather and the incense of pipe smoke. The grainy-sweet smell of hay drying in the sun.
The tide of the auctioneer's voice, rolling and crashing, enveloping you in an explosion of sound. The chorus of old men bickering with old ladies about monies spent. The sizzle of meat cooking on the open split metal-barrel grill. Dogs barking. Tires whining over the hot, open road.
The taste of an 'everything' bagel toasted on a flat grill. The crunch of dust in my teeth. Apple juice to cut a path through the dirt.
Sunday:
The hum of a sewing machine, and baseball in the background. The quiet of a companionable porch. The clunking of glass and the purr of a cat. A train screaming in the distance. The real laughter of my friends, unforced.
Soft fur tail caressing the back of my propped legs. The darkness of the night like a cloak, wrapping and fluttering about me.
The bleeding fingernail, hanging in the satin black sky, a blaze over the path I take to my bed.
The smell of hay, different at night, cooler, comforting, soft. Mingling with the sound of little frogs singing in their pond.
It was a very good weekend.
- K.
Saturday:
The musty smell of old books with old knowledge, wet dogs and hot horses. The cool, mysterious smell of old things packed away; some useful, some not, waiting to be brought out again. Mildewed leather and the incense of pipe smoke. The grainy-sweet smell of hay drying in the sun.
The tide of the auctioneer's voice, rolling and crashing, enveloping you in an explosion of sound. The chorus of old men bickering with old ladies about monies spent. The sizzle of meat cooking on the open split metal-barrel grill. Dogs barking. Tires whining over the hot, open road.
The taste of an 'everything' bagel toasted on a flat grill. The crunch of dust in my teeth. Apple juice to cut a path through the dirt.
Sunday:
The hum of a sewing machine, and baseball in the background. The quiet of a companionable porch. The clunking of glass and the purr of a cat. A train screaming in the distance. The real laughter of my friends, unforced.
Soft fur tail caressing the back of my propped legs. The darkness of the night like a cloak, wrapping and fluttering about me.
The bleeding fingernail, hanging in the satin black sky, a blaze over the path I take to my bed.
The smell of hay, different at night, cooler, comforting, soft. Mingling with the sound of little frogs singing in their pond.
It was a very good weekend.
- K.
