Every town needs a One Cold Hand chapter.
I’ve got a pair of grey ladies’ gloves hanging in the lowest crook of a tree out front, where I put them after picking them out of the gutter. Musta dropped out of a driver’s lap when she got out. My hope that they will be reunited with two cold hands is fading, as they have been hanging limply for over two weeks. Each rainfall decreases their desirability.
In the meantime, I hope their owner has one hand wrapped around a toasty hot sandwich and the other around a stinging hot cup of coffee.
The airwaves of Madison, Wisconsin carried Music From the True Vine, my three hours of audio euphoria, Wednesday afternoons in the late 70’s. One afternoon, while reading a LOST PARAKEET ad, the phone jangled. Found parakeet! A sweet reunion of human and bird was arranged, and my week found its high water mark.
The Lunch Encounter 