So I was out watering the roses, the tomatoes, the fruit trees, and the irises in my backyard and listening to the song playing in my head (which was, in case you were wondering, “Tears Cry on Their Own” by Amy Winehouse…don’t know why, I’ve long since made my peace with the fact that when a song decides to take up residence in my whimsical psyche it’s best just to let it go rather than trying to fight it) when my mind wandered in the odd ways it sometimes wanders. I felt, for fleeting moment, like I was melting.
The sky was crystal blue and the Santa Ana winds (hot, dry winds that blow in off the desert…as opposed to the cool breezes that usually blow in off of the Pacific) were dancing softly but insistently and thus the day was unseasonably warm (91 degrees) for a San Diego May afternoon.
The sun and the spring/summer winds were competing to impishly caress and tease my shaved head and bare arms and, for a brief little eternity, time stopped and I felt like I was melting…an odd but not really unfamiliar sensation.
The moment passed…Amy started singing again…and the roses, tomatoes, fruit trees, and irises…parched by the withering heat of several days of unseasonable temperatures…got my full attention again.
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