Write about a balcony
it was 9 AM. The cool spring breeze floats through the newly sprouted leaves on the tree outside my apartment. The sun is shining brightly in my windows.
I do not want to start my day yet. I am not looking forward to the day’s work. I decide to read a little before the day really begins. I fill my cup with coffee and grab my latest read and go to the balcony.
I stand and watch the leaves wave in the breeze and listen to a distant bird squawk. It must be the same bird that wakes me up every morning, along with the sharp sunlight and the horrific buzz of my alarm clock. It was such a beautiful day out, it seemed a shame to have to spend the day indoors, working. So I thought I might as well enjoy it while I can.
I opened the screen door. A cool breeze enveloped me, as if invisible, sensuous fingers were touching me everywhere. I put my coffee and book on the plastic patio table. I step out on to the black steel balcony floor.
Hot! My feet are burning on the black steel. I jump back inside, scorching, checking to see if my feet were actually burning, or just had the appearance of doing so. The soft, sun warmed carpet felt good now. I wasn’t thinking that the balcony’s metal would be so hot, just a little warm.
This did not detour me. I was determined. I went into the bedroom, then the closet. I found a nice summery yellow pair of sandals and slipped them on my now recovering feet. I went back into the living room. I half expected to find my coffee boiling on the patio table.
I stepped out, without hurtful scorching, and sat in one of my soft patio chairs- one where my back to the sun, so it would beam light to my page.
Ten minutes later, I was steaming. The coffee was too hot, the light was to hot, everything was way too bright. I had so looked forward to this being so nice. I couldn’t take it any more, so I grabbed my book and mostly empty cup of coffee and went inside. Inside was cool and wonderful. I guess maybe I was meant to just go about my work and not have a nice quiet morning on the balcony.
The afternoon came and all of the day’s work was done. But all day long I couldn’t help thinking of that morning- the sun, the book, the scorched feet. Mostly the scorched feet. I knew now how a piece of bacon must feel in a frying pan.
The sun was going down. No longer did it shine on the balcony. Instead, it bounced off the windows of the building next door, and glowed red against its cement surface. Everything out there looked so cool. Perhaps this was the time to be out.
I poured myself a large glass of water and recovered my book from the end table near the door, I stood at the door, looking through the screen door. The sky was cloudless and the cool breeze continued to blow through the tree outside. It was just like this morning, without the extreme light and heat.
I sat down once again in one of my comfortable chairs. I wondered how long the light would last. I opened my book, which I left this morning in a very good part, and started to read.
I sat there reading and enjoying the cool breeze for an hour and a half. The book was very engrossing, and I hated to put it down, even though it was getting darker and darker. I only gave up when it finally became too dark to see. I must make a note to get a light that will work outside.
I got up, gathered my things, and went inside. The carpet was once again soft against my feet, but in a different way. I closed the screen door behind me, peering at the square lit windows of the apartments in the building next door.
29 February, 2000
Writing Journal exercise. Inspired by my then new apartment with hte heat and bright morning sun.
Filed under: short stories | 1 Comment