Oct. 16, 2012 Pink underpants

Oct. 16, 2012


Pink underpants. Loose cotton pink underpants and nothing else on. Sitting against ourt headboard reading something. She has her glasses on. Her knees are up and she is leaning the book or the pad against them. Her hair, which was shorter, has grown a buit and needs a clip to hold part of it out of her face, She has on glasses. Wire frames. She is intently looking at or reading the book or pad. It is mid day. On a Sunday I would think think. The windows are open. The breeze is blowing in. The dogs, Pip and Sam, are on the bed. Pip is a schnauzer and Sam is a poodle. It is 1969 or 70 I think. It is sunny. The sky is blue and the other tower of our apartment building takes up just a small part of the right part of the windows. Her face is in concentration. Her look is intent as she deals with the pad or book. She is wearing nothing else except those underpants I mention a number of sentences back. We are young. She is young. I think I am 22. If that is so then she is 22. Twenty-two is young isn't it? She has (in the memory) small breasts. She had small breasts. She had a scar on one tow and another on her head right behind the hairline. Her was brown. Is brown in the memory. I am happy. I remember being content. Content is happy isn't it. It was a great moment and IO had no idea at the time that it was but part of me must have because I still have that memory and there are hundreds of thousands I do not have. I have this now. It appears often. It appears when I am not trying hard to concentrate on life in the present. It shows up often. At lunch when I am not at work it arrives as I open the door and walk out on to the street. I think that is because the outdoors reminds me of her. Not a city street but anything that has as part of the scene something green and growing. Or birds. Or squirrels. Or bugs. Or dirt. Or trees.