Something's Up

     A woman feels it in the air, a feeling that something's up. A man feels it because he's read it in the newspaper and the local weather man said it's today. Big November full moon in Taurus.  She knows it was yesterday but his voice is louder and certain of the date. She daydreams to the background noises of his muffled words. The feeling came in waves with traffic flow and warm fresh towels that needed  folding. It peeked its head again at mid lunch when the phone started ringing. Women on the machine wanting answers from each other because they had a feeling too, something's up. A woman knows others won't hear what she has to say when the feeling is in the air so the phone went unanswered. Time for space where the heart is tender in a labyrinth that's shadowed by bits of this and bits of that and a woman knows it will pass as feelings often do.

     The man wants to prove today is the full moon and lucky for the woman, Google agrees with  her. His confusion makes her smile as he leaves the room amazed that he and the weatherman were wrong. How did she know without looking at the news? It came in waves, with thoughts of being nine dressed in a Christmas dress, riding in a dark car on the way to watch the Russian children dance ballet  in a small town in Mexico where the rain pours and the streets smell of fresh earth. Shadows of a sweet tamale with big raisins that she loves where another shadow lies on top of this one but it won't talk, only breathes. A hot breath of giggly cousins in clicky sounding shoes, famous dancers, grandma is so pretty and everyone loves her. Who's drunk? Not grandma, she loves the little girl and sings the words, pretty baby all the way home letting the child's memory relax into visions of wet clicky shoes in a town that glows with Christmas lights and plastic Santa's in the store front windows. Did the Russian children fly to get there?

     The man is hungry and joins the woman for an intimate dinner of split pea, carrot and potato soup with a crisp salad. He notices the house is clean and asks how did she know the full moon was yesterday.

     "It feels good in here," says the man.
     " There's something about full moons that makes me want to clean," replies the woman.
     "So that's how you know?" he asks.
      "Guess so, just a feeling," she whispers.

To contemplate is to look at shadows.
Victor Hugo