
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Summer afternoon
Where city hum
Turns breath of waves
And
Children’s voices
On the surf.

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Summer afternoon
Where city hum
Turns breath of waves
And
Children’s voices
On the surf.

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
There’s magic
At the end of day
As sunset preludes
Silvery gold
Upon the beach.
As children
Call
In play
And light glints
Priceless moments
Within reach.
For The Daily Post

Central Park NYC, Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
In the heat of summer,
‘Neath a lamp
O’er green
Park’s ablush
Tickled pink.
Tuesday’s Photo Challenge

Photo: Dvora Freedman
For those who like spice
There’s a place of delight
For the taste of good life
When the sun warms you back
And the chilies, your belly.
For The Daily Post

Photo: Dvora Freedman
Breathe the fragrance of summer
Smell the sun ripened fruit
Born of
Hard work
Long daylight
And the miraculous growth
From a green, tender shoot.
For The Daily Post
Met a neighbor downstairs yesterday. She was sitting on the stoop with her dog by her feet. My neighbor is usually quite peppy. She looked wilted and a little green around the gills. Sweaty. Bleary eyed.
I asked it she was okay, and she shook her head.
“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” she said. “Got dizzy. Maybe it’s the heat.”
I gave her a cold water bottle. Asked the café next door for a towel moistened with ice-water and wrapped that around her neck. I’d have helped her to my air-conditioned apartment but I didn’t think she should climb several flights of stairs.
She didn’t want me to call 911. Said she’d just sit on the shady (but steamy) stoop and rest. I offered to help her into the café next door instead. Had her sit down in the air-conditioned space. The dog could not enter but the waiter understood and let us sneak the leash out through a crack in the door so she can still keep hold of the pooch.
I asked again if to call 911. Didn’t want to scare her, and indeed it could be heat-exhaustion, but heart-attack in women rarely displays the classic ‘clasp your chest’ as in men. It could be something else …
She shook her head. “I don’t need 911. I’m taking this new medication and maybe it made me more sensitive to the heat. I think there was something about it on the label. I’ll be okay.”
She said the cool air already had her feeling better. So we sat. I watched her, ready to call 911 if she got worse. She didn’t. She took small sips of her water. The waiter brought another cool rag to replace the one that already warmed. She took deep breaths.
Her coloring improved. The dog, who’d been standing vigil by the door and anxiously observing her, finally lapped the water we’d placed for him, then lay down with head calmly on front paws. His reaction reassured me. It reassured my neighbor, too. She smiled and took a deeper breath. The dog lifted eyes to her and his tail slapped the ground in return greeting. Both relieved.
We sat a little longer. When my neighbor felt like herself again, we thanked the café workers and I walked her home. She was going to take it easy the rest of the day. Hydrate. Stay indoors.
Summer is lovely, but it can be tricky for many. Medications are often not taken into account, yet should.
I can be a certifiable momma hen … so, bear with me. … It’s been hot yesterday and it is hotter still today. A heat index of 109F or so. Life doesn’t need to stop, but know the signs of heat exhaustion and heat stroke. Don’t ignore them. Take precautions, check your medications for heat-sensitivity warnings, and take good care of you, of young and old or people who are in any way infirm or vulnerable to heat. Be mindful of pets, check on neighbors. Keep hydrated. Keep cool. Keep well.


Shirley Baker children draw on pavement France 1960
Find time for drawing
Pictures
On the pavement of your mind.
Remember
The dry feel of chalk on fingers
The odd satisfaction in
Colors
Merging in the rain.
Put aside the rush of feet
The soles of to-do lists
The pressures of perfection.
Pavement pictures do not require
Standards
Other than imagination and
A bit of emptiness,
A soft rock,
A hand.
Make room for pavement pictures
On the pace-space
Of your mind.
Let the squiggles free
So the sketch
You never knew was there
Could stretch
A doodle
To the sun.
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