thoughts, from the porch…

thoughts, from the porch…

action asphalt blur cars
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

an endless trail of red tail lights slithering inches off for miles, as far as I can see, I try to concentrate on the lobster mac n’ cheese waiting for me, sitting, stewing, a frog in a Jacuzzi, trying to find the right soundtrack to alter my mood, new year’s eve and here I am again, isolated in a forest of people trapped in tin cans, finally, an accident up ahead, better yet a car was on fire, at least the payoff was there, I hate to sit though bumper to bumper stadium seating with no show, as long as no one is hurt of course, there is no ambulance present, unless I missed it, that is, and with that time jolts, as if a starting gun bang, down the stretch they go, burst forth from an invisible gate, a car, new york plates, blows by me at about ninety I think, “did you not just see that mangled wreck? !“, I scream, in my head at least, screaming at a car screaming by would have no effect at all, of course, white lines flash, speed up, speed on by, white line links in the road, that boring morse code, how soon hopeless waiting becomes the quick past in the rear view mirror forum, another year, another year I whisper in my mind to myself, what does it mean, seemingly stuck in the same old themes, rinse, repeat, today is your birthday, I know, do I send you a note? would it be for you, truly, or words that would be serving myself, mostly, every day possibility seems dimmer, but there are still stars in the sky, out of reach, but still transmitting light, no matter how far away they may lie, I know, I know the pain I caused you, put upon you, mine, mine has never gone away, like they said it should, would, sometimes I think I am wired wrong, but complaining to the manufacturer will do no good, at this point, anymore, at least I can hold you in my thoughts, you were, you were a reality, a reality that I had parallel, I try to hold you from fading into history, even though, it is, with each passing year…
tonight smells like winter, a hint of wood smoke as somewhere someone stokes a fireplace, a delicate drizzle drifts in and out of phase, a cold wind chills the air just enough to catch breath, the trees are just bare limbs, frozen in the night, the bamboo rattles against the siding of the house, sometimes rapping, sometimes tapping, or fingernails scraping against the windows, there is quiet on the street, no moon, I step inside, the comfort of lobster mac n’ cheese offers a temporary shelter, tomorrow another day, another year, shall rise, shall I? when times are darkest, no matter what the mood, the view, the doom, there is life, and let that be my lantern guide…

(part of my porch series, where I step outside, is it a diary ? perhaps, sometimes, and other times, no.)

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