May 23 2010 10:10 pm
I rode with the windows down, WFHB playing Ethiopian reggae, the kind of falling apart reggae that clanks and tinks along with bloodshot eyes and sweat and maybe oppression and a horse. After that it was a broken down creole zydeco song, punchy accordion, whiny fiddle and raspy washboard struggling to stay all in one piece. This music sounds like it is of a hot place, with moldy walls and mosquitoes.
First hot day of the year. 89 degrees and humid.
The trees and weeds and grasses are full and proud, not the whiny, spindly leaves of spring and not yet the beaten down, tattered old men of late summer. Each rough sycamore leaf is encrusted in white glands that I think irritate my lungs and make me cough, though I have no reason to believe this other than that I have coughing fits this time of year on the creek. Jazz hand buckeye leaves shake back and forth in the breeze and vines reach all the way from the high cliffs to the water.
Wet wading in the deep corners of the creek it is cool. The high, aquamarine water radiates a chill like that wine bottle chiller at the liquor store. When wading a long, straight stretch next to a field the hot, sticky air slides down off the grass and smells green and makes my chest feel full. The mountain of would-be monuments and government buildings sits far above the trees and absorbs the hot sun all day which radiates back again rolling down the valley and into the creek so that when I round the corner below the quarry it pushes back on me like warm foam.
I picked a leech off my leg. Then I went to the China Buffet with Yaniv which was disappointing as always. The crab legs. Not Yaniv.