First Impressions
by Leslie Noyes
He’d cultivated a gravelly voice, thinking it was sexy and maybe a bit authoritative.
She’d perfected a killer walk, seductive and full of promise.
Watching her closely he decided she was out of his league and never spoke a word within her hearing.
Thinking him aloof, she refused to take a single step, and simply ignored him.
The end.
Look what other creatures were hanging around the new fairy house–a pair of teeny tiny fairy birds. I’m calling this one, “Petite Cardinals.”
What’s in Your Well
Where do you go, storyteller?
The days are bright in your world.
Or dark.
Take us there.
Down endless flights of stairs with monsters lurking in the shadows underneath.
Or up to soaring heights filled with cumulonimbus clouds and rainbows around every corner.
Make us laugh.
Or cry.
Give us hopes.
Or dash them.
Throw stones against the barriers that separate man from God.
Hold a blanket close over our shared memories.
Don’t let us hide from the starkness of truth exposed by harsh sunlight.
Or from the shadowy world of imagination.
Illumination.
You draw from your well.
I can’t even find mine.
I went out to check on the fairy houses this afternoon. Lo and behold there was a new guy taking a nap on the porch of the fairy house built by our granddaughters, McKayla and Harper (with a little help from Studly Doright) a couple of weeks ago. Let’s call this one, “Fairyzzzzz.”
I Have Love
I have love, ill-defined and tenuous,
Hollowed out and scurrilous.
Jealous to a fault,
Impervious.
Brittle love, strained and anxious,
Stretched too thin, dangerous.
Pushed past the limit,
Hazardous.
Save me from love, rude and ridiculous,
Martyred and meticulous.
Grasping for straws,
Ludicrous.
I didn’t get out much today. Instead I watched the satellite tv installer work his magic from the quiet of my back porch where I snapped this picture. I call it, “My Biggest Fan.”
©2017 by Leslie Noyes
All This and Cataracts, Too
Sometimes I kid myself:
I’m young, sexy, skinny, and brilliant.
Yes, I kid myself.
In reality, I’m old, dumpy, chunky, and bland.
And now I’m told I have cataracts. Yes, they’re “baby cataracts,” and shouldn’t be an issue for a number of years, but dammit all to hell; I have cataracts.
I see trouble on the horizon. Wait! I can’t see the horizon!
Peace, people.
©2017 by Leslie Noyes
I took this photo after Easter last year while visiting La Antigua de Guatemala. I believe this was a view of one of the staging areas for Holy Week displays, so a good title might be “Santa Semana 2016.”
Studly Doright likes to trade cars. When he’s had the same vehicle for the span of a year I can feel him getting antsy to find the next great deal, so it came as no surprise when he sheepishly showed me a photo of a little Cadillac sports sedan and told me he’d bought it on eBay.
“It’ll be my golf vehicle,” he said.
“I thought the Dodge pickup was your golf vehicle,” I countered.
“Well, it was, but I’ll sell it.”
“What about the little Nissan convertible? Wasn’t it also your golf vehicle?”
“You know it gets lousy gas mileage. I’ll sell it, too.”
As long as I have a decent car to drive I really don’t care what Studly drives, but I had to give him a hard time. When the car didn’t arrive on time I began needling him.
“Are you sure you’re dealing with reputable people?” I asked. “What if they never deliver your Cadillac?”
“It’ll be here. It’s in Detroit and they had a huge blizzard last week.”
Two days later, still no Cadillac. I again questioned the prudence of buying a car sight unseen. Finally, though, the transport driver called to say he’d be in Tallahassee on Sunday afternoon, so when he sent an address I drove Studly into town to meet the truck.
The car was badass: Silver, with black leather seats, and every bell and every whistle one could ask for. It also came with one unexpected bonus–the nastiest smell I’ve ever encountered outside of a garbage dump.
The smell wasn’t organic. Nothing had died in the car. It was a chemical type smell, as if someone had used it as a vat for tanning animal hides. Gag!
Studly was in denial.
“It’s not so bad,” he protested, when I refused to ride in the car.
“Three Mile Island was less toxic than this car,” I said.
“Maybe it just needs a coconut scented air freshener,” he didn’t actually say, but I knew he was thinking it.
“Let me deal with it,” I sighed.
So for the past week while Studly has been at work I’ve coaxed the nasty smell out of his Caddy. Long drives down country roads with every window rolled down and the moon roof fully open have made a huge improvement in the car’s smell. It’s not yet quite to the pleasant stage, but I have a reasonable expectation that it soon will smell almost like a new vehicle. And it’s such fun to drive.
Maybe Studly has learned a lesson about buying cars on eBay. Or not. Regardless, life with him is never boring.
Phoebe Buffay knew a little about smelly things:
This tree on the shore of Lake Ella in Tallahassee is my favorite of all the trees I have ever known. It’s massive and friendly and magnificent. I call this one, “Tree of My Heart.”
Praying for Eyebrowz 