Snapshot
The subtropics, like half of these United States, are cold right now. Freakishly cold. Freakin' cold.
Yesterday afternoon I was driving down a residential street, as you do, and passed a woman sitting in the bright clear-cold sunshine. She had wrapped herself in layer upon layer of clothing, added a thick wool blanket on her lap, and pulled a toque over her hair. For further warmth, she was smoking like the proverbial chimney.
Her Adirondack chair was placed at the edge of her front yard, almost in the street -- near enough that I could see her eyes were closed. The better to soak up the light, I thought. Like a lizard, I thought.
When I looked back in the rearview mirror, she still sat there, somnolent, sun-worshipping. Something fluttered red at her neck.
A scarf, I thought.
A lizard's throat fan, seeking the sun, I thought.
I didn't look back, for fear of what I might see next.
Yesterday afternoon I was driving down a residential street, as you do, and passed a woman sitting in the bright clear-cold sunshine. She had wrapped herself in layer upon layer of clothing, added a thick wool blanket on her lap, and pulled a toque over her hair. For further warmth, she was smoking like the proverbial chimney.
Her Adirondack chair was placed at the edge of her front yard, almost in the street -- near enough that I could see her eyes were closed. The better to soak up the light, I thought. Like a lizard, I thought.
When I looked back in the rearview mirror, she still sat there, somnolent, sun-worshipping. Something fluttered red at her neck.
A scarf, I thought.
A lizard's throat fan, seeking the sun, I thought.
I didn't look back, for fear of what I might see next.