A Perfect Day Interrupted
For the past month or so, they have dug up our street, and starting at six o’clock in the morning, began such a ruckus it would have woken the dead. I will not even tell you about the state of my poor house! I shut all doors and windows and put on the air conditioner, which I loathe with a passion, and it’s still covered with dust five minutes after it’s cleaned!
This morning I opened my eyes at six o’clock. I heard nothing. Utter silence! Perhaps I had died and gone to heaven? I raised my head slightly, opened my eyes a slit. No. I was still here, on this earth. Ebony was sprawled all across the bed. Picasso was curled up on my usurped pink armchair.
I yawned a luxurious yawn, got up, and went down the stairs for my cup of tea. I brought it upstairs, shooed Picasso out of the armchair, and sat back with the tea and almost the end of book four of a series of six by Jean M. Auel. They are about people during the Ice Age. Utterly fascinating!
I had a hairdresser’s appointment at ten. I went. When I returned, the street was still nice and quiet. I surmised that since it is the end of the week, perhaps they are not coming. It is such a nice day to sit on the porch with my book. The breeze was gently swaying the leaves in the trees. I dusted the table, plumped up the cushions on the chairs. The pups curled up on the floor and began a lazy summer snooze. I opened the book propped on my lap. I raised the mug of tea to my lips. I thought to myself, “Aah! What a perfect day!”
Just then I heard the sound of the rowdy crew return with their clanging huge machines. “BANG BANG! CRASH CRASH CRASH! BANG BANG BANG!” The dogs looked at me. I looked at them. “They did say until the end of September,” I said. With that, we got up and went indoors.