A storm was moving in. I did not know it, as the sky looked blue and it felt more like March or April than early February. I had been real low and confused about things over the past few days. My brain had flipped the switch and I was feeling a little better today.
The sky was still mostly blue. I looked over my shoulder to see the granite outcroppings as I drove. Kind of wished I was out walking over them — looking at the dimorpha soon to bloom.
I stopped at few stores and bought the regulars — groceries, bread, paint and lumber. I then went by a new lumber store with some country boys behind the counter.
I had grown a little weary this weekend, while out in public, of all the stares — So strange the way things work. You do what you want to do and no one stops you but the stares and the glares try to silently tell you you are out-of-line. At least they think you are not in-line with them. Most of the time I don’t care to much but I do notice. I was tired of all the looks so today I wore my regular country boy outfit, except for orange paint-splatterd shoes.
The country boys behind the lumber counter helped me out. I felt obliged to tell them I was needing this lumber not for official home building but for art projects. They smiled slightly as I took notes on delivery prices. I was happy to find some helpful folks that could get me some telephone poles delivered top my new property.
I put up some new street poems along my travel, stopped for coffee and sat in some suburban traffic. I got home about the time it began to rain.
I had not put up any street poems in a little while and I did not want to get rusty. It felt real fine to get back in that street folk saddle. Here we go.