five-sense Friday

smelling: fresh-cut grass, faint cigarette smoke from the neighbor who smokes on the back porch (reminds me of Grandma or Europe), summertime city

hearing: traffic (the slow-growing muted roar of a bus or a big truck, the constant beeping of backing-up construction equipment) and Josh opening and closing drawers in the other room

seeing: piles and piles of books to read, and my own tilted handwriting in the margins of the books I've just read this week; patches of blue sky, and birds dashing around in it

tasting: milky tea along with homemade cinnamon granola with a peach cut up on top -- the most wonderful summer breakfast

feeling: a bit of a breeze, a bit of a hand cramp from holding all those books over my head while I sprawl out on the couch, the roughness of mass market paperback pulpy paper against the edge of my right hand as I underline and annotate; also, curious about the future