Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Fall from Grace

I have a small courtyard in front of my home covered by tiny little sharp (very sharp) white stones. I chose white to offset the Florida sun. Weeds poking through the stones is a constant battle of wills to keep my Feng Shui feeling alive. I don't believe that weeds are compatible with Feng Shui.
My courtyard is a quiet restful place where I can go and relax try to meditate, chill out or sip a fruity drink. I always wear shoes or at least my flip flops as the sharp little stones are like death needles. At times their sharpness have penetrated the souls of my thin rubber dollar store flip flops. To walk barefoot upon the stony path is forbidden - in my book of lists.
Unable to sleep with the heat and the humidity of a summer night along the gulf has led me to my private oasis. I am down to two plastic chairs in my private paradise that have face the harsh Florida sun for too many years. Once taupe colored and smooth they were a wonderful addition to my restful escape in the middle of a city. Now they are rough and colorless and blend into the stone landscape as if they are truly non existent.
So it's just me in my thin cotton nightwear a cloudy sky, the heat and the quiet of my courtyard facing the sleepless evening. I lower my sleep starved body onto the colorless plastic chair that has seen too many unforgiving sunny days and sleepless nights.
Life comes at you fast especially when you're not expecting it to. One second I sit and the next second I'm fighting with broken plastic and sharp deadly stones. What has happened to my serenity of my Feng Shui getaway? The once sun washed plastic chair has taken on a life of destruction and mutilation. It tears my thin cotton gown in more places than anyone could have ever imagined and sends me stone surfing along the shards of stones. Sharp stones. Sharp stones connecting with my lily-white flesh, tearing and disfiguring.
I know not what has been hurt the most? My pride or my body. I limp into the house leaving behind my tranquil garden of death stones and evil plastic furnishings. Blood leaves a tell-tale trail across the terra cotta tiles. I survey my wounds in the bathroom mirror. I limp out back to the pool to nurse my ravaged body. I slip silently into the cool waters of my backyard Feng Shui resort.
My ankle throbs, my arm drips blood, my raised welts turn a dark shade of purple, my ego sulks, my wounds burn as the chlorine wraps me in her clutches. I need to get better furniture for my courtyard.

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