The air grows blue-dusky and the wind puffs and blows between the houses in their muddled array inside the gates of the stone walls surrounding the little neighbourhood. Being summer, and out of school, children spend long hours outdoors into the night. Herbie doesn't like the noise of children, big or small. The small ones squeak in high pitched voices and the big ones bellow at one another. Then there's the basketball pounding. Afternoon games are like sitting in the pit of a pistol range shooting match, as rated on the Herbometer.
We'll go for a walk anyway, around the block, with him pulling himself horse and me watching the sky over the base airfield a few miles away. There the other he who is steward of this house, is flying tonight.
5 comments:
Kelly,
Get busy and write that book.
Yup.
Your writing makes me imagine I'm on a walk with you and Herbie. I miss you -- things have calmed a bit. I will call.
I used to watch that same sky at the same time (when it's cool enough to be out) for the same reason. It was a very lonely time. I'm glad Herbie makes a good walking companion.
I just realised I misspelled "hoarse." :)
It's not you and me, but Herbie who needs a book written about him!
~Your loving Electra
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