By Artdog
Date: 31 December 1999

Begrudging release

The remnants of an abrupt goodbye- cleaning time.  "I don't really care for tomato soup", I remind myself, tossing the heavy can into the garbage.  This mango is no longer any good, long since softened and tanned.
  In the spring time, Maple trees grow tiny flowers, not even two inches long, like green sewing thread and a white flower not half the size of a pea.  We had parked my car under these trees with the sunroof left open, and the wind carried this little decorations down and in to adorn the black upholstery as we strolled.
   I don't want to unroll these socks.  I fear I will never be able to figure out she did it this way that I like so much.  Strands of waist-length black hair hide for me in the oddest places- so hard to pick from couch pillow fabric with just cut fingernails.
Time to button down for winter.
With vacuum hose in hand, I climb into the backseat of my car.  Extend back one leg, drop a booted toe to the fat "on" button of Hoover.  Little nylon fingers begrudgingly release those tiny, little withered and faded tree flowers, but eventually the suckhole wins.  My thoughts turn to other trees and whether or not they grow similar things.  I am not sure, but I think it will be fun finding out.