Humpity Dumpity

I like to riff off of others' blog posts – particularly those of friends and family. The other day my niece Taz posted pics on her private blog of her recent learning-to-roller-stake bruises. Purple patellae! I soon thereafter acquired some spectacular bruises of my own, and I considered posting pics so I could have a multi-media bruise post too. My bruises are purple blossoms clustered around my bottom cleft, and as cute as my cleft is, it seems malapropos for my readership. So no pictures.

   I did not get the bruises while learning to roller skate; I am not learning to roller skate. If I were I would have way more bruises. I bruised up after slipping on – indeed, OFF – a bridge, an arced bridge without railing, peppered with peacock poop, leading to an island in a lake, an island with a wannabe Japanese garden on a prospective farm property. BOOM. There's a scene in One Morning in Maine in which Sal slips on a rock and a loon laughs at her. There's a scene in The Man From Snowy River in which Jessica says “everything seemed so clear to me.” In the moments of my falling, and just after my fall, I experienced the essence of both of these scenes. 

   Taz, by the way, was walking right behind me on the bridge and also fell, right behind / on top of me. But she is a falling pro. So I bet she didn't get any extra, bridge bruises.