Hawk!

I was sitting at the table reading this afternoon when I saw a big something in the tree across the way.  It was a big red-tailed hawk.  It was looking intently off to the left, walked forward on the branch, and then took off.  Beautiful.  I watched but it didn't come back.


It was warm outside today.  I took a walk and then walked around the backyard picking up trash that Wednesday's wind and rain deposited in the yard.  I don't know where all the paper, bags, and wrappers comes from.  There must be a lot of litterbugs in my neighborhood.



The only other thing I have to show you tonight is that I reached the middle of the Baktus scarf tonight at Friday Night Knitting on Zoom.  See the little point?  It makes me very happy to be on the downhill, decreasing side.






01 May--Barbara Malcolm, Tropical Obsession. 

Sunlight sparkled through the clear water in the pool behind the villa. When they had arrived a few weeks ago Mona wondered why anyone would go to the trouble and expense of blasting out a pool when the ocean was right there, just down the steps at the end of the deck. Now she loved the pool; Henkel, the pool man, cleaned it every day and there was a beautiful big angelfish made of tiles in the bottom. She idly trailed a finger in the blood-warm water. Lying on the baking tiles of the pool deck made her sympathize with how a sub sandwich must feel toasting on a grill.

Jack had left her early this morning; he kissed her shoulder in the dim cool telling her he had a meeting. She vaguely remembered hearing the door close and the distant sound of the car driving away. That was hours ago. The maid, Yana, had come, cleaned and cooked, and gone. Yana had made her a bowl of ceviche from fresh-caught fish from the local fishermen, limes and tomatoes from La Portuguesa, and big sweet onions from the Venezuelan fruit temple across from the Town Pier and had even made Johnny cakes to eat it with. Jack would have loved it. He should have been back for a late lunch, he said he would be back, but he had not returned. She had made a pitcher of planter's punch after Yana left, and drunk nearly half of it when she realized she was lying on the tiles telling her troubles to the pretty blue and yellow fish on the pool bottom. But where was Jack?

This is the old manuscript I've been working on lately.  It's half as long as it needs to be so I'm depending on seeing it here in small bits to help me see where I can fluff up the story.  I hope you like it.
--Barbara