red feathered fedora

I really loved my birthday. It felt like spending the day with an old friend. I like my job, but it was okay to have some time off to just wander and relish. There isn't a whole lot about the part-time teaching gig I miss... but the schedule and the coming and going of it. I miss the freedom of it. I love freedom. I love the lightness of flitting around, stopping when I want to stop, going when I want to go, basking when I want to bask. I miss flip flops and windows and coffee stirring and book reading. I miss open and quiet and color. So much tan and pressed clothing and elevators. My soul is a sun soul; it needs light and air and water.

They dug up the tulips on Locust. No replacement, yet. Just pock-marked dirt clods.

I sat in the sun at Nollen Plaza today, and a man in a pimpy red fedora asked if he could buy me lunch. I said No Thanks, indicated my husband. Tried to balance open and protected at the same time. I bet he has interesting stories. Don't doubt I'd learn something. Don't doubt he needs a warm soul to talk to. I don't like the walls that go up when I'm trying to commune with sky. I don't like how distrustful I am, immediately; but I'm not sure how else to be with men in red feathered fedoras who swagger even though they don't have all their teeth. Even if everyone is kind on the inside doesn't mean everyone chooses kindly on the outside. He left, and I gave him a 5-minute head start before I strolled back across the bridge in my flip flops up the capitol steps, through the heavy smudgy brass doors, elevator, to my cubicle, where I changed into my dress shoes and logged on.