Sometimes you have to get out of traffic. I was stopped at a red light, in the odious stretch of cars on a Thursday -let’s -go -to -the -Cape -Cod -House,-darling, and the Man, -I -am -getting -out -before -the -tourists -arrive. Okay, I am probably who still says “man.” Regardless, I was waiting on a light. A young woman and her daughter where behind the fence of what looked like a Crafts Fair, squatting on the grass (or maybe sitting, I don’t know) and watching the traffic. I rolled down my window (AC) and asked if it was a Craft Fair. Yeah, she said, It’s good, thinking that’s what I asked. The light was still red, so on green, I made the turn, found amazing parking (getting out was another story) and hopped on out.
The fair was on the site of the Eastham Windmill, a mill that ground corn driven by horse and wind power.
This was a good craft art fair, part of the Wellfleet Oyster Fest. The first booth I stopped by had beautiful stained glass and shells; another had garden stakes made out of knitting needles topped by glass art shaped like dragonflies and butterflies. It also had a very much alive dragonfly who inspected the earrings with me. The third, where I lingered the longest, where I wish I had bought something, where I might go back and do just that, featured mobiles made of stone and recycled bottles. Think Calder, not Woodstock. Beautifully crafted, the artist said yes, she loved making the work, and having something balanced as well. I am going back. I wish Sandra Bland could as well.
Shopping with a dragonfly! You are blessed.
Your photograhers’s eye is as bright as your writer’s eye.
Sun has set. I light candles outisde on the balcony to keep mosquitoes at bay, or at woods, in our case.
I have a daydream, or an early evening dream.
You, Sandra Bland, and I are having girls’ getaway. We place our luggage at 66w11, then go shopping. We find prietty blouses for our night-out. We go to Gotham Bar and ask Mark for Prosecco or a Bandol Domaine Tempier Rosé.
Next, we order handmade pasta. We eat, drink, laugh. We toast Sandra’s new job.
We go back to sleep at 66w11.
Morning, we have a big breakfast at Buvette. We Laugh. We hug and promise each other we will meet again. Same time next year.
Caught my breath. Choked me up. And the windmill pix are spectacular. Did you miss your calling as a pro pho?