A Warm Afternoon

As I approached the Marine Corps War Memorial, where I often come to sit on a bit ground in front of a sturdy tree, the sounds blaring from outdoor speakers filled my ears. It was the same few notes being repetitiously broadcasted. I passed close by a gardener that I have grown accustomed to seeing from a distance. He had several water jugs nearby his boot-clad feet and he was slowly draining one of them over the roots of medium-sized oak. For the first time, he turned his head and we took a long hard look at one another: he was wearing a dirty red rag on his head and a thick, certainly heavy wooden cross around his neck. I proceeded on. I next encountered a young couple who appeared to be consulting a map. The girl wasn't very pretty, that is if you ask me, but then that is one of those words with a fluid definition that depends entirely upon who you consult. She was wearing a pink tank top and scratching an itch that apparently resided just underneath it. Neither she nor her male companion paid me any mind. When I had situated myself comfortably enough in front of a very tall oak, I raised my eyes and there the two were again, crossing my path. I haven't noticed too many other people out here on such a heated afternoon (when I last glanced at WeatherBug it was 94 degrees in Arlington). I am a bit toasty and the ants recently discovered my location and are now crawling all over my Fossil handbag and exposed toes. These aren't the sort that bite, so I only shoo them when they begin to tickle. I'm not so sure that the occassional spider who takes a cut across me doesn't have a penchant for humans and so I gently send them on their way by blowing on them. I've never been particularily afraid of spiders and that's likely because I grew up in Florida where there aren't too many species that can hurt you. However, Florida did have it's fair share, perhaps even more, of palmetto bugs. In case you unfamiliar with this insect, a palmetto bug is essentially a roach with wings. I don't like coming into contact with cockroaches and so too the bastards blessed with wings go without saying. The bells are now noisily bonging out the hour: 6:00 p.m. I'm feeling slightly less like writing now and more like retreating from the sun from behind the cover of my book. -- CrystalShiloh @ 11:00 PM