Plato's Phaedrus. Gently washing my hands at midnight after tripping in wet grass visiting the horses. Taking Roland Barthes' The Pleasure of the Text out of the free bin at the transfer station because come on. Hot air balloons floating over the deep green landscape, marriage proposals, photographs, promises unkept. Why did we - and by "we" I mean homo sapiens - decide to make jewelry, right?
Roadside Queen Ann's Lace, purple clover. Wispy pockets of mist floating where the river follows River Road. Herons, helpful hints, happy faces. Mountains called to me but in a foreboding way, and my life has been mostly judicious in terms of which ones I'll climb, which ones I won't. Cleaning trout aside the stream, their guts in a pile for bears to gorge on at dusk.
It is not your sunset and anyway the sun doesn't set. Imagine, people once lived without coffee! Algebraic equations in my dreams, a reminder that math, like the Lord, is everpresent. Rich waves leaving. Breakfast sandwiches, hot coffee. Shall we press this violet into the pages of the family bible?
Brittle roses, first dates. We drove station wagons with holes in the way back, you could see the road passing but oddly didn't feel unsafe. One is never not wanting a kind of solitude.
And forgiveness, always forgiveness.
No comments:
Post a Comment