Tell your friend, my mama told me when I reached the age of being con-spic-uous , I should go get me a pair of them overalls, so people can’t see how I feel, and what I was thinking about.
I listening to your perfect narration while walking up a steep trail in the blaring sun, permanently stuck to my clothes, hair under my baseball cap, hoofing it up the mountain with a big smile, regardless of the heat. Thanks for a steamy story on a steamy day.
I am parked beside the river on a shade less stretch of gravel road. Wiping stinging salty trickles of sweat from my eyes and chuckling aloud. Kinda a perfect gift when you look at it just so. Thank you for your generous soul!
I read it—then had you read it to me. Exquisite narration—a slow pour & long glance, warm kitchen & warmer danger. I could smell the coffee, feel the linoleum underfoot, & practically hear the soft rustle of that nightie rounding the corner.
You wrote desire the way it prefers to arrive—uninvited, unhurried, & entirely at home. It slips beneath the doorframe, settles on the chair beside you, & grins while you try to remember where to put your eyes.
It’s breakfast time here now—& I’ve a sudden desire to lean in close, pour strong coffee, & behave just badly enough to keep it interesting.
Gurl! This here commenttation gits yew like fifteen brownie points and one icy cold libation of yer choice. Absolute perfection! Laughed my ass off. Ever grateful.
Well butter my biscuits & pour the drink—I’ll take those brownie points with a side of mischief. Delighted to deliver a laugh that cost you your behind. Consider me ever-ready for round two. x
Listening was indeed "Delightful and complicated..." for some reason, when you got to "Patsy knew though, and she knew that I knew.", it just made the whole story. I totes get it, the secret (and not so secret) attractions that are felt here and there along this dance of life---sweet Patsy and clueless Vernon, wow. And there you were, young man, there you were. I giggled a lot...
Love these stories. My mom was from Mississippi and she lived off some dirt road. I only remember us going to where she grew up maybe once. It was a wooden house and in her day it had the outhouse. Don’t know if it ever changed. It was definitely in the woods of Ackerman, Mississippi . I find it interesting that we never were told a lot about her youth or my dad’s who grew up ion Weirton , West Virginia. There the men all worked in the steel mills in Weirton. Both are gone and there are no relatives to ask about their youth. Keep writing as I can visualize what you write and enjoy it
Tell your friend, my mama told me when I reached the age of being con-spic-uous , I should go get me a pair of them overalls, so people can’t see how I feel, and what I was thinking about.
I listening to your perfect narration while walking up a steep trail in the blaring sun, permanently stuck to my clothes, hair under my baseball cap, hoofing it up the mountain with a big smile, regardless of the heat. Thanks for a steamy story on a steamy day.
It is indeed a happy sweat filled day, from Vermont to Seattle, or wherever your sweat is dripping, thanks for the laugh at Vernon’s expense!
I am parked beside the river on a shade less stretch of gravel road. Wiping stinging salty trickles of sweat from my eyes and chuckling aloud. Kinda a perfect gift when you look at it just so. Thank you for your generous soul!
Sweet, kept me smiling…
David—
I read it—then had you read it to me. Exquisite narration—a slow pour & long glance, warm kitchen & warmer danger. I could smell the coffee, feel the linoleum underfoot, & practically hear the soft rustle of that nightie rounding the corner.
You wrote desire the way it prefers to arrive—uninvited, unhurried, & entirely at home. It slips beneath the doorframe, settles on the chair beside you, & grins while you try to remember where to put your eyes.
It’s breakfast time here now—& I’ve a sudden desire to lean in close, pour strong coffee, & behave just badly enough to keep it interesting.
—K
Gurl! This here commenttation gits yew like fifteen brownie points and one icy cold libation of yer choice. Absolute perfection! Laughed my ass off. Ever grateful.
Well butter my biscuits & pour the drink—I’ll take those brownie points with a side of mischief. Delighted to deliver a laugh that cost you your behind. Consider me ever-ready for round two. x
Listening was indeed "Delightful and complicated..." for some reason, when you got to "Patsy knew though, and she knew that I knew.", it just made the whole story. I totes get it, the secret (and not so secret) attractions that are felt here and there along this dance of life---sweet Patsy and clueless Vernon, wow. And there you were, young man, there you were. I giggled a lot...
And now I’m chuckling with gratitude. Thanks my friend.
Love these stories. My mom was from Mississippi and she lived off some dirt road. I only remember us going to where she grew up maybe once. It was a wooden house and in her day it had the outhouse. Don’t know if it ever changed. It was definitely in the woods of Ackerman, Mississippi . I find it interesting that we never were told a lot about her youth or my dad’s who grew up ion Weirton , West Virginia. There the men all worked in the steel mills in Weirton. Both are gone and there are no relatives to ask about their youth. Keep writing as I can visualize what you write and enjoy it