Skip to content

En papillote

July 18, 2011

There is a bird perched on the roof of the house to my north. It’s been there, perfectly still, almost twenty minutes now. Without a peep. On day 18 of the heatwave, there’s barely a breeze, but up there, I can see its feathers rumple. I think the sparrow has located the coolest spot in the neighbourhood and nothing, not sunset, not larger birds, not even a nearby staring cat, can make it budge.

Meanwhile, I sit here, thirty feet lower to the ground, wearing almost nothing, just a light blouse and sweat-sodden short-shorts…poaching in my clothing like a fish steaming en papillote. If only I smelled that tasty; instead, I stink like my bikeride home from the office, which I completed in a business suit and heels, and the herbs I mashed between my fingers and added to the salad an hour ago.

My cat is sacked out on the kitchen floor, in the epicentre of a smatter of dirt. Earlier, she burrowed a hole in the garden, not digging to China as I first suspected, rather, seeking cooler soil like a kangaroo at midday.

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: