Today I spent the afternoon printing. The shop was hot, and even the shortest walk up to the wood shop made my head throb from the sun. Steele drove us home at 5, and we walked in the door to two matching sun patches on the floor from our two matching windows. We sighed. And retreated to the bedroom, where the sheets were cool. I put the fan on the night table, and Steele wet a washcloth with cold water to put on my head. We opened our books, him, LOTR, me, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting.
Then my mom called. Funny about moms, talking to them on the phone is like going into a little worm hole, and when you come back out Steele is asleep on the bed with his book on his chest. And there is nothing else to do but lay down next to him.
I lay down next to him and the fan is on and the sound is such a comfort. It is the dim-light of 7 o’clock. Steeles head is sleepy. He rolls around and I lay on my back and the sensation of his hot hand burning into my hip while the fan blows cool air over me is so purely summer. I wish I could have captured that feeling of being so horizontal and sinking into it.
But we went on a walk and Steele helped me take this picture and I don’t know what it is or what it’s about, but I like it and there’s something here.
It’s strange to take a picture and know that my instincts took over and that I don’t know, yet, what this picture is about or why I like it.
But my instincts do.