Bio Note: In southern California the seasonal changes are more subtle than in some other places, and yet I am finding myself more than usually attuned to the nuances of spring's arrival this year. I think it is the fact that it is aligning with some hope of reopening, of emerging from this year-long pandemic winter. I am also celebrating a kind of rebirth with the publication of In the Muddle of the Night, co-written with Alan Walowitz.
In summers past a hydrant blast was all it took to wash the sweat off heated days, a splash in the geyser flash, the cleansing sprays. We jumped back laughing, stomping puddles, united in the joy of cooling skin, the unexpected surge and strength of thirsty limbs. An ice cream truck jingled the soundtrack to our dance, our soggy t-shirts twirling, drenched and dripping, sagging pants. We lined up with our silver, split a Twin Pop™ with our best friend, sucked the flavor from the ice, chewed the stick to splinters, until sweet and sticky, we hopped back in again.
Originally published in The Ekphrastic Review
We lay face-down on the beach, masked faces in the water, waiting for the next wave to arrive, stirring up the sand: an underwater snowglobe. We were a part of it all: the bubbles, the whirling, anything that might surface or arrive, with each gently lapping tide.
Originally published in Silver Birch Press
©2021 Betsy Mars
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