Monday, August 18, 2008


Clouds cover and a cool breeze refreshes without mocking, as dripping clouds were not desired either. The windows all open to blow out the residual heat, mug, and aroma of hot house guests and selves.

Ah, but the dust, the dust does mock.
The vacuum comes out.
The brooms swish.
Out, out, damn dust!
Off the porch! Off the shoes!
No one wants to remember you!
With no lingering sign of dust, still there is cleaning, wiping, sweeping.
Out, out, damn dust!

Slowly, items settle back into their places. The evidence of the weekend suddenly disapears as home returns. Then there is music. Filling the house with warm, full vibrations, fingers pound out the melodies that have relieved aches for fifteen years. Fingers trip in the same places, but these familiar chronic failures cover and comfort the acute ones.


  1. YES!! "Out, out damn dust!"

    Same sort of 'First Rain' ritual went on here. Sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, mopping.

    Yes, the dust doth mock...but the rain wins out in the end.

    (Then the mud will mock.)

    I'd love to hear the fingers pounding and tripping and comforting. Sounds like life.

  2. Thanks Cherie, Happy to know my obsessive cleaning spree was shared - but hopefully with a little less angst =)