Sun on a winter Saturday. Green tendrils of life straining out of the earth with abrupt impatience for the global axis tilt inflicted stasis. Trying to get a new reading on things. Is it time? Is it time? Is it time? Months of lethargy. Months of not looking up. Months of not looking around. Months of standing still. And then-BANG-a burst of energy that makes you believe in heat and life and the intake of easy breath. A violin player. Hands bare. Bowing complicated rhythms. Standing alone in the middle of a forest path. Momentum. A fog of exhaled notes drifting through the crisp long shandows of a late end of January afternoon. Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. Rapini. Roasted Garlic. Kombucha. Beets. Spinich. Goat Cheese. Yum. Portuguese songs. Brazilian songs. Drum beats. Clattaclack of sticks together. Racing dogs off leash off owner running with a body meant to run. Been here before. But not in a long time. But not with the miles behind me that are there now. Cute Polish boy with the silent j name. Wondering how it is pronounced. Having one of my own doesn't answer any questions. Dream about the end of the world. All because the lightbulb burnt out... and then it never came. The end. It never came. I'm still going. Until finally I've done all 8. Accoladed by hummingbirds heard but not seen. Small celebration. Then you press on into the next moment. Bare witness to the illegal exchange of altered reality. Will I tell? Maybe. Maybe not.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
8 Mile Stream of Consciousness
Sun on a winter Saturday. Green tendrils of life straining out of the earth with abrupt impatience for the global axis tilt inflicted stasis. Trying to get a new reading on things. Is it time? Is it time? Is it time? Months of lethargy. Months of not looking up. Months of not looking around. Months of standing still. And then-BANG-a burst of energy that makes you believe in heat and life and the intake of easy breath. A violin player. Hands bare. Bowing complicated rhythms. Standing alone in the middle of a forest path. Momentum. A fog of exhaled notes drifting through the crisp long shandows of a late end of January afternoon. Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. Rapini. Roasted Garlic. Kombucha. Beets. Spinich. Goat Cheese. Yum. Portuguese songs. Brazilian songs. Drum beats. Clattaclack of sticks together. Racing dogs off leash off owner running with a body meant to run. Been here before. But not in a long time. But not with the miles behind me that are there now. Cute Polish boy with the silent j name. Wondering how it is pronounced. Having one of my own doesn't answer any questions. Dream about the end of the world. All because the lightbulb burnt out... and then it never came. The end. It never came. I'm still going. Until finally I've done all 8. Accoladed by hummingbirds heard but not seen. Small celebration. Then you press on into the next moment. Bare witness to the illegal exchange of altered reality. Will I tell? Maybe. Maybe not.
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