I sat on the deck looking at my red and black toenails trying to decide whether or not I dared make them into ladybugs. A cup of French vanilla cappuccino stood waiting nearby. Around me was my family; chatting, swimming, blowing bubbles, eating, and taking pictures. It had been a lovely afternoon to celebrate my nephew's high school graduation. The rain of the morning was past and the afternoon sun had completed the day perfectly.
Out in the yard was a lone Frisbee player. "Are you playing Frisbee by yourself?" called his father. The Frisbee player looked toward the rest of the group, smiled, and gently tossed the disc in our direction. I watched as it sailed toward my sister and me. It sloped slightly upward in the space between us just before making it's descent back toward the thrower. I raised my cup of coffee to my mouth, closed my eyes, and took a sip.
I wasn't hurt at all. The Frisbee didn't hit me hard, it was really just a gentle, albeit unexpected, tap on the head. My coffee, cooled from hot-hot to lukewarm, had not scalded my face or body, and I was wearing green, not white. I called for the clean-up crew, and once my face had been wiped clean, dug a fresh shirt out of my backpack. (Yes, even grownups should carry an extra set of clothing.)
Rachel stood nearby to record the moment for posterity, I suppose much to the dismay of the Frisbee player.
Friday's Hunt "L."
1 hour ago