small town city

The Austin I live in is a small town.  Located within three miles are our doctors and dentists,
church, four grocery stores,
a toy store,     
    record store,
         comic book store,
                feed store,
                    our garden,
                book store,
            pet store,
       our library,
our favorite restaurant and two parks with pools.

Six miles away is a children's hospital,
children's museum,
another grocery store,
two more parks,
a duck pond,
another book store,
rock store,
awesome Asian markets,
the best pho .........
and Snow Monster.

This evening, we spent an hour looking at lizards, snakes, birds, a sloth, bunnies and a miniature pig. Another hour was spent just looking at accoutrements for pet bunnies. She went item by item asking,"Did you get this for your hamster? Did you get this for your bunny?" She then said she wanted a bunny and a hamster and chickens and a pig, "I want lots of pets like you had, Mommy!" That is something we cannot have in Austin.

No papaya tree of our very own, no hammock under a tree, no yard of our own, no bee hives.

I've never moved in autumn

October, under pecan trees and above gravel driveways, the polka dotted shirt my mother had on was long sleeved, Halloween was approaching, my little neighbor friends talking about costumes as they  started to walk home with their mother.

I remember when my mother's blue and green scarf went flying off her head and out the car window, as we passed over the bridge. I saw it float high above the water, the sun was fiercely setting into the lake and blinded me before we drove out of the scene.

I keep feeling the morning sun at the window in my grandmother's bedroom. The smell of freshly washed clothes and how the floor felt beneath my feet.

My grandfather, at the kitchen table, two weeks before he passed, telling August how he wanted to buy her a baby chick and how he smiled and it was the same smile I saw when I was her age.

fastidious musings for anonymous

We have been listening to Mingus, Monk and Milt Jackson through the summer. August likes to recite her own spontaneous poetry over the music. I linger in the moment. Later, I wonder if jazz will be forever connected with the months just before kindergarten. Our brand new neighbor plays the saxophone in the evenings. The sound gently passes through the walls. It sounds very good and a bit serendipitous. 

Heard mariachis at the library, the lonely trumpet echoing down the hallway before they started put me somewhere I can't quite describe. Perhaps its in the future. The museum we love feels like home, the library like church and the church like a museum. Deep in thought and feeling, I am using all my senses, and it's all love.