Monday, May 9, 2011

7:05 pm, summer

7:05 in a Florida summer's evening means that the breeze is warm and blowing relaxed through the trees, rustling the leaves to my pleasure. 7:05 means the sun is starting to lounge in the sky, illuminating my walls with orange sunray, broken into lines by my blinds. 7:05 is after-dinner conversation and Jeopardy; suds sloshing in the sink while I lean over dinner dishes. 7:05 is that first post-work margarita.

7:05 is the quiet storm; slow R&B making love to my ears; slowly sneaking up my earlobe. 7:05 is Florida brilliance, a first and last date in the park, resisting an inevitable end. 7:05 is the day's transition.

7:05 is memory. Past, present, future.

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