Some holiday passed yesterday without our notice. A chill in the air, bread from Flagstaff grapes in the oven, and a casserole dish for the next three or five days. Depending on how fast it goes. How fast does it go?
I can’t tell. It’s November something. I think the winter is actually approaching. But, the sun is still in the sky warming my side from above as I sit half in shade, half out. Like a true winter creature – trying to find the bits of life still left.
Metal wings fly every day now, and this morning I hit this wall. Excuses and bellyaching made for a miserable morning. Have I stopped listening, Carbon? Have I forgotten you so quickly, like the dead?
Day of the dead is long, long ago past but maybe I need another reminder.
Come up from the grave and smack me in the face. I will listen if you wail loud enough.
No, no but that is just fireworks in the distance because today was some kind of celebration. A jubilee, but not of any sort to be set free of anything you might have accidentally accrued in the last seven years. A fat feast for the rich and the well-to-do, and another loaf of guilt and misunderstanding for me and you.
The day before all of this, we two swung from vines in a massive pecan tree that we meant to break. Mid air and the snap occurred, leaving us bent back and crashing to the ground. I nearly hit my head, you nearly smashed into the crowbar. We took a ladder and balanced it against the trunk, sworn to get those poisoned strands down. Sworn to break our heads. It was shaky, that high up, just hanging from these crackling vines, one leg up over that trunk and the rest of me sprawled, terrified and wasted, just waiting to fall.
Some of those vines are black inside, like ash crawled up their spines and burned them out. I wonder how that felt? Oh but the vines are long dead and we’re just pulling their legs from our tree. I think I own something here. Perhaps, it owns me.
At any rate, I’m working my way out on this limb that I won’t be able to hold on to. I think if I had a saw, maybe I could catch that fallen branch. Y’know, the one that keeps getting in our way when we walk from this way to that? When we walk down that broken stone path?
Are we going anywhere but round and round?
These two wheels I found in the basement of a bike place have fit me well. The bruises happen over the bones, where they’re supposed to. And under the shoulder blades is this stiffness I’d long forgot. Both calves seize up before I get up the stairs to go to bed. Pirate and Kadense are up there waiting. They’ve been sleeping on the couch all week. In dim lighting like candles from this tiny lamp.
We like a lot of tiny things.
I think we can blame some bright fires for that.
Though how bright they are is yet to be discovered.
First Port is coming. We are days away. And then, the winter will strike at us again. And we’ll see how well the garlic grows up from the morning frost.
So far, so good.