Screened porch

So there I've been, nursing my thumb (not totally in the thumb-
sucking phase, but almost) on the porch.

And it has been in the 80s and 90s here, which makes me wonder even more about climate change, and about the heat of the ocean.

But back to the topic. It has been difficult, with the bandage and all, to turn pages on books, and specifically to type. But not to observe from my corner of the porch, and to note that the pink mussaenda, to the left of the column, and the night-blooming jasmine, to the right, have all but obscured the view of the street toward me.

Their little view-slits make me think of the Arabic porches of Seville, woodcuts so artful that the harem members above could watch the street below without being observed.

And so I sit, veiled, and watch.