Blowing in the Wind
January's winds shake the pines and rattle what's left of the oak leaves. The Japanese maple's remnants skitter from the gutters and leap down the street, as if celebrating. This is a January I can endure, if not love. Writing with gray, gloomy skies doesn't interest me in the slightest. It's like writing at night - not my favorite time, either. Like my hundreds of newly planted tulip and daffodil bulbs, I crave sunshine and warmth to create anew. Meanwhile, I'm working on a couple of projects simultaneously, and telling myself spring is only a couple of months away.
The good news is, Florida and the Daytona 500 are a mere four weeks hence. Yes! I've taken my Mark Martin hat from the shelf and started wearing it around instead of my wool cloche. The sunglasses have gone into my race day backpack. I'm plotting our route to the track, where we'll park, what food for the tailgate party.
The sun toasts my arms, the engines rumble and scream like the Allman Brothers on a roll, and high octane fuel spits out fumes - in my imagination. Four more weeks! Yes! I can hold out!!
The good news is, Florida and the Daytona 500 are a mere four weeks hence. Yes! I've taken my Mark Martin hat from the shelf and started wearing it around instead of my wool cloche. The sunglasses have gone into my race day backpack. I'm plotting our route to the track, where we'll park, what food for the tailgate party.
The sun toasts my arms, the engines rumble and scream like the Allman Brothers on a roll, and high octane fuel spits out fumes - in my imagination. Four more weeks! Yes! I can hold out!!