Sidewalk View | Spokane, WA |2018
What’s right in front of us isn’t always what we see. This recent view of grasses and clouds transported me to New Orleans, 1977, where I sat on a patio sipping cafe au lait and watching — through a veil of similar stems — the unfolding of a small drama. A few yards away, a shapely woman in a short, tight skirt and killer heels berated a handsome businessman in an expensive suit. “Get this straight,” the woman hissed, poking at the man’s chest with a surprisingly large finger. “Three years of waiting is long enough. If you don’t tell her” — she reached out, cupped the man’s chin and squeezed hard — “I will tell her every … little … thing.” She whipped around into morning sun that revealed her five o’clock shadow peeking through heavy makeup. Her Adam’s apple worked angrily in a tightened throat. Her muscled arm fanned the grass stalks, which swayed back and forth — like a metronome marking heartbeats before the man gathered himself and walked away.