Thursday, August 5, 2010
It could be 7 am or 8 am. Or it could be 6 pm or later. It could be any time. I am on the porch drinking some drink. Maybe gin or maybe coffee. It could be any day. I am watching the way the angle of the sun is elongating the shadows of the fence posts and trees along the ground. Looking at them like they should be moving faster. Those shadows. They are going one way or another, but it’s all the same to me, because I sit there thinking about people.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Someone who wants to introduce me to old music that I’ve never heard, not new music that no one has ever been moved by, someone who hung the moon, someone who understands the varying purpose of affection, someone who’s head is full of thoughts and phrases, whose eyes dampen when they should, dry when they should, someone whose heart is stitched together with forgiveness and not caught up in the past, someone who will take me fishing, someone who’s not perfect, someone who rattles me, someone who makes me think of anything at all, someone who I could live with, someone who listens and is never dogmatic, someone who understands when to stop, someone who values silence.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
I am lamenting some unforgotten actions and wishing they would disappear, like I always am. I am wondering about the unsaid and wondering if there are things worth saying. I am wishing I was a lemon tree, so that I would be productive - prolific even - every minute of every day. Smelling sweet of lemon blossom and providing with fresh fruit. Feeding minuscule creatures whose importance we don’t even talk about. Giving shade to someone. Giving someone a proper view if they had the audacity to climb me to the top and stay a while.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Noon on a tuesday in Barcelona, Spain (Catalonia, if you prefer), and I’m thinking about my mother’s words. She taught me that there is a good and a bad side to everything. It’s the decisions that YOU make that bring the balance that you need. Like, the balance between contentment and laziness. A place where you can be grateful without being sloth-like, and you can be pensive without sabotaging yourself...I consistently seek that balance. Or I hope that I do/am.
Time’s passage grows more obnoxious with each day we are apart. The hours pass like sand in an hourglass; say that sand were molasses and the obligatory passage smaller than the eye of a needle. And it drip, drip, drips; like some brave actor - acting out in cowardice. My feeble ruminations are true, all be them less than explicit, for there are no words or phrases to conduct this symphony of misery in my heart of hearts forced to exist without your word and thought.
It is hard to create joy and to record memories without you here. The novelties of my fleeting and mostly lost youth are not nearly as entertaining without our shared commemoration. Our shared laughs. Our shared griefs. Ours shared tears.
The tea kettle howls at me from the other room. I am week from it’s hissing and howling, and only wish I had the ferocity to throw it across the room at the window. The window is open and the noises of the street sound mundane and are not unlike every other place I have been. Only, I know it is different here and I exist differently within my means.