Para Sol Para Memo

‘Its going to be hot. 40c today  – no rain though – maybe bush fires!’.

‘do you think the spiders hiding behind the lizard thermometer on the window will notice ?’ she’d said.

‘You know there’s only one little black guy – perhaps it ate the other one’

‘Yes they weren’t the same kind – so maybe ?’ – I agreed.

I had dressed looking forward to the early morning walk to the train. Took some care. not too much. Then thought about the hat – perhaps the white one from Seville – been round the world a few times and a great design for the sun. Perhaps the black Akubra with a range if native bird feathers. A guy with a trumpet smelling of alligator had stopped me in JFK. He’d acclaimed how bad the white hat was and perhaps I’d sell it to him – the black hat a bit too formal and winter season – not good and therefore not bad enough.

I stood near the door – looking through the glass at the solitary thermometer hugging spider – – 30c it read  and it was only 8 am.

I remembered of Bogota Columbia where in Chia, a nearby village I remember the band at the local restaurant on a Sunday.  The leader had a parasol which doubled as a conductor’s baton – terrible bad music with raucous trumpets, strident violin and a single side drum, no alligators, but massive strong sun – under the parasol he conducted and sang the lead.

It was the light that reminded me of that time, perhaps the light and the spider, perhaps the light, spider and lizard.  But that’s the beauty of memory for ideas.  They come straight out memory beaming at you like.

I grabbed the umbrella as I opened the door.  Perhaps it would make a real bad parasol para mi.