Saturday friends come to dinner. I make a fish curry; Elizabeth a pound cake with grilled fresh pineapple and a brown sugar rum sauce, the pineapple a perfect complement to the spicy fish. I wear a jeweled “bindi” on my forehead and jeweled sandals on my feet. I listen to Indian music as I cook.
Sunday Leslie comes to walk my yard with me and discuss gardening plans. We talk of bamboo. At times invasive, we are nonetheless beguiled by the subtle music of canes rubbing and tapping in the breeze.
This evening as I come home from work, I stop in mid-stride just steps from the car. The sound of cicadas fills the air, like the roaring of lions at sunset. I am struck that it was not until I heard them again that I realize they had been silent.
At my front steps, I look over into my neighbor’s yard. A palm towers over his house; the fronds rustle in the wind.
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