It’s almost 2 am, I just got home from the chocolate shop. There is a huge festival going on in town, even have a carnival and carnies, and shops have deals and oh the food from the restaurants, so nummy. It all culminates with a pretty sad parade actually, it’s awesome, don’t get me wrong, but hardly any of the local schools participate.
It’s rumbling and blowing and lightning and just fussing something awful out there beyond the window, the bird feeders swaying with the wind. All this does not bode well for festival time, rain is not our friend, but if it ends early enough, it will be okay.
I’m sitting here with a big brown adorable dog on my lap, and a perfectly fine bed up stairs with a darn hunky and warm hubby waiting for me, but I just had to write tonight.
We were at the chocolate shop till after 1 this morning having been there since morning. Oh, don’t worry, work wasn’t keeping us there, our big brother stopped in from his home 6 hours away and we sat in the kitchen of the shop, drinking sake, and nibbling fat, juicy, melty cheesy sandwiches just barely toasted and cookies made at the bakery in our coffeehouse.
We sat, twinsie, brother and me, and we talked about everything, and we argued, laughed, thought too deeply, struck nerves, the funny kind and the ouchie kind. It’s a typical gathering of the three of us; three of six kids total. It is always interesting when we are with our eldest brother who manages to stay very good looking at the ripe old age of 66.
At the stroke of midnight with another busy day staring us in the face on the other side of a very quick night’s sleep, we parted, and twinsie and I counted down tils and readied the shops for another day’s business. We walked to her car and she gave me a ride to mine. I am not afraid to say that it’s sort of scary after a certain hour. Even in the safe hamlet of our town. It’s festival time, and with it comes others that are not familiar running the rides at the carnival and other activities.
But within our town there are those whom we swear we know, but really don’t at all. And this woman with a pink wide-brimmed hat and her arms full to the hilt with odds and ends that appeared to have come from the overflowing trash cans was one.
After a time, I began to see a familiarity to her and it pinched my heart. We could see that she didn’t want us to look too closely at her, she ducked into the temporary pottie at the corner of our street, and we turned back to go get my car after driving by and she’d thought she was safe and had headed a little more quickly down the same street my car was on.
In reverence to her, I could not look at her. I didn’t want to know why she seemed familiar, why she’d probe the thick, sticky trash cans for treasures that I wouldn’t give my dog when if my mind placed her correctly, she lived in a house that I would not even dare dream about living.
In reverence to her middle of the night roaming, in reverence to the lonely heart that pulsed under her pale pink robe. I saw nothing that dark, humid night, except for the places the lonely hearts go.