Yesterday I went for a walk during an extended dusk ushered in by the far outer bands of what had been Dorian, slayer of the Bahamas.
The air was cool and I noticed the process of yellow, orange, red and brown. The acorns were fatter than two weeks before when I walked this same route through hot green steam. Wild grapes developing, not yet fragrant, I want to transplant them. A sad iconic seasonal scent. Like lilacs in Spring.
Three goats bleated at me from a high platform with what seemed like urgency. Was it the approaching storm? Had their caretaker fallen face down in the grass, dead, while engaged in the daily routine of feeding them? Maybe they were heckling me, but I'll tell you, it seemed like a plea or a warning.
It's good to walk. It's good to see no one while walking.
The changing sky, the changing season, the changing everything we do not perceive.
At home, I felt tempted to revisit the music I used to play for she and I. Not you and I. All third person and past tense now. Let's be reasonable.
That slowness, soft light and shadows, it all happened in my body. Less than ten seconds. I should never go there again.
The yellow jackets have created a hole at least a foot across in my backyard. They are working furiously. What do they know collectively? How deep is that hole?
The air was cool and I noticed the process of yellow, orange, red and brown. The acorns were fatter than two weeks before when I walked this same route through hot green steam. Wild grapes developing, not yet fragrant, I want to transplant them. A sad iconic seasonal scent. Like lilacs in Spring.
Three goats bleated at me from a high platform with what seemed like urgency. Was it the approaching storm? Had their caretaker fallen face down in the grass, dead, while engaged in the daily routine of feeding them? Maybe they were heckling me, but I'll tell you, it seemed like a plea or a warning.
It's good to walk. It's good to see no one while walking.
The changing sky, the changing season, the changing everything we do not perceive.
At home, I felt tempted to revisit the music I used to play for she and I. Not you and I. All third person and past tense now. Let's be reasonable.
That slowness, soft light and shadows, it all happened in my body. Less than ten seconds. I should never go there again.
The yellow jackets have created a hole at least a foot across in my backyard. They are working furiously. What do they know collectively? How deep is that hole?
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