Fragments. There is a ladder. Fallen over. A sense of noonday light. Fragments. Among friends. Comfortable carpet beneath bare feet. The ladder at roof's edge in the garden. A turntable. Fragments. Familiar tan intersections of familiar walls. The kitchen now. Sky blue. Gentle music. Laughter. Fragments. Perhaps a party. Conversational pauses to sip. Assured clack of porcelain mug on marble counter. Distant turntable whirring to reset at record's end. Laughter. I hear the ladder falling.
Later in the park. With strangers. Shadowed by the concrete piers of a concrete bridge. At first believe we are seated on blankets. Landscape fabric laid over bermuda grass. The shadow of the abutment lay across a restive dachshund. Fragments fading. Haunches tired from sitting motionless I rise to stand. All the other picnics too close for comfort. A short leash. The owner standoffish. With broad steps move out into the green. Away from traffic noise. Sun expansive. Dulcet gathered chatter fades.
Feet traversing warm moist grass then finding soft firm black fabric again. Girdershade behind me. Cloudless azure of October above. This field an infinite retreat from densely scalloped chicory skirt of pecan & walnut. His barn red leash released. Broad strips of softly glowing glassy grass between us. Then no space at all. The dachshund bounding cheerfully up, bumping hello against my shin. All past fragments dimmed. Brownblack eyes reflecting the shine from ninety eight million miles away.
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