Tiny rose. |
Today, though, things got a tiny bit spicy. As I toiled at the yolk yellow desk, eyes burning from the new movie screen sized monitor, with a super tiny rose plant from my sister on the windowsill, very
phlegmy coughing could be heard from a yard behind mine. It was the second day of such coughing, and it went on long
enough that I worried the person doing the coughing might expel a lung and kick the bucket.
Not long after the coughing, a voice could be heard from the same
back yard area. It grew louder, intruding into my auditory space,
which made it feel like a good time for a quick break.
Seeking clarity, or at least a spot where I could hear the outburst more
clearly, I moved to an open window. From the bathroom, snatches of what sounded like an impassioned argument floated across the yard. “How
can that be racist? I’ve listened over and over and there is NOTHING racist!” There was more yelling and then something about “small town” and I concluded this was one side of an
argument about the Jason Aldean song, “Try that in a small town.” There was
some more yelling, then suddenly, the loud talk went silent.
The Sherlock Holmes hat came off and I returned to my work
of sending out photo files. It wasn’t long before the quiet was shattered again
with excited cries of “Discovery! Discovery!” Then there were some unclear
words and more loudness with “April blah 2023 blah RNC.” And then silence. I imagined back yard
guy had been punching questions into Google to support whatever he was arguing.
Just then, neighborhood white cat with gray patches sprinted
diagonally across the back yard from the shed towards the deck. And then it got
quiet again, and stayed quiet for the rest of the afternoon. No more fragments
of arguments, and it wasn’t as exciting as some of the other local events, but
it was a nice little break in the silence.
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