Flying Sardines

The other day

We rocked the shores of Squibnocket.

The rocky beach made us jump and jerk as we walked.

Bent at the waist, eyes intently down

Searching.

K, J and Vivian, a triple-decker sandwich

All begging for shells.

Rocks, pebbles, stones

Of all races, creeds, colors and cultures.

Broken, beautiful shells hide

Beneath them

Between them

Washed up onto them.

The rocks house broken hearted crabs, garbage, shells, and

SARDINES

Flipping, Flopping

Gaping, Gasping

Struggling, Striving

For nothing less than life.

Feeble tails fanning the waterless, heartless air.

Begs for a mermaid to attend,

To put his seat back in the upright position.

K gasps

J bends

I watch

One of their hands

I don't remember which

Reaches and gently scoops up the quivering, slick fish and

Chucks it underhand back to the sea.

But more, more amongst our foreign shores wash

UP on sand to strand themselves.

We diligently oblige.

From one moment, swimming,

Then flopping, gasping, striving

Dying

To Flying.

Stuff - 8/15/07

I stepped on a screw.

It got stuck in my shoe.

The first thing a child recognizes is its mother's legs. No matter whether it's just their mother, or a whole sea of people, that child will know it's mother by her legs. She knows the grip around her mother's thigh. He can tell by the smell of her laundry detergent and the texture of the pants she wears. Just the width, stature, musculature and familiarity of the legs give her away.

Breeze - 8/14/07 3:00 PM

It's calm at the Yard right now. As impossible as it sounds, everyone is relaxed and not working. Wendy is napping, J & K are relaxing together, the Bush Women are grocery shopping or resting, KC, Nicole & Lise are chilling on the office porch, the girls are postering Edgartown, and I am sitting on a counch under the tent, writing. It's cool and lightly breezy, like the day has no agenda. The sky is a light white blue, and the sun is dappling the trees, making them glow in the afternoon cocktail hour. The red and white checkered tablecloths wave in the gentle wind, and everything is photogenic, but too relaxd to be photographed. The mood is happy, bery different than the past few days. Everything was compressed yesterday, everyone on a tight mission. No one looked up, or stopped to notice the lanterns or the grass. Today, everyone has noticed. Everything has taken a moment to breathe: us, the buildings, the trees, the tent, this couch, this paper. I can notice the colors of things again. My watch is a bright bluish teal, and the sliver is shiny. The candle on the table really looks "peach," edible and succulent peach. The candle on the other table is a real lime color, pretentious and jazzy green. This couch is made up of three different browns and two different greens and a lovely soft white. Even the white of the chairs is a real white. Life is simple now.

Chocolates

K says "chocolates" in a consistantly beautiful way. It sounds foreign and exciting when she says it. She pronounces the 'a' like in "latte," and both 'o's, instead of just the first one. She sounds mildly Jamaican in that she's anunciating, accentuating all the syllables. It's soothing to the ear. "Chocolates." I thought I'd get used to hearing it said that way, but every time she says "chocolates" it's new.