Modest, downtown mostly hugs the ground, the few tall exceptions sources of pride and embarrassment. I’m easily drawn to Triangle Park, near the center, with its long curved fountain. The water is loud and colorful, a miracle framed by busy streets. It makes me happy. I try to see what color the water is, exactly,…
We’re careful to confine the twining vines to the corner of the side deck. “Better go cut back that honeysuckle,” John will say one day in the fall when he’s looking for a little something to do. Come spring, the cascade of blossoms spilling over the railing is a wonder, sweet and generous in spite…
I had missed the dogs all day, so we ran across the field together as fast as we could. “Hector!” I called as he chased a squirrel into the trees, the two of them hiding in the light. I ran after him happily, losing myself in pursuit. Sometimes the light at the horizon is so white…
I wondered what was in the box on the porch. John had ordered yellow roses for his grandmother’s grave for her birthday. He set them on the dining table in our turquoise vase until it was time. When he got back, I told him I missed them. Next day I found yellow roses on the…
I’m surprised at the graffiti above me in the underpass leading to the sunken park. The long, small falls is out of place. I get down close, reach into the fast water, and it splashes on me, light everywhere. I can’t take my eyes off it. I cup my hand and rock the water back…
G Bebs / Photographs 