(for the uninitiated, this is freeform where I sit on my porch and let the thoughts flow… sometimes they even do)
sitting outside and being able to unpack the day has been far and few between, aside from life, and winter, and all those things, so tonight, at least a window cracked open for some time to unwind, the day struck 80, so I’m told, I can not say it felt that warm, but a welcome departure from the lately norm, but tonight? not as nice, in fact there is a gale warning, so I’m told, but I happen to enjoy listening to the stories of the wind, especially a busy one, and one not carrying rain, more like performance art really, wind does not make noise it simply rushes over the strings provided, slides over the reeds, bends to creeks, reverbs in the hollows, even here, staring at typical suburbia, my neighbor has company, they all drive hondas, but the not so subtle voice of the wind is able to bring me somewhere else even if I remain right here in place, the pine tree is making an odd clicking sound, almost like tic tacs falling on a tile floor one by two, lights dance, well, at least what blocks them is swaying like peekabo with a shake, the wind brings me a reprieve, empty branches reach out like the skeletons of ancient horned beasts, lined up the trunks like sentinels in formation, at least for the time being, nests of antlers, barren like bone, I enjoy the build up of a strong gust, I can hear it coming like a big ocean wave roaring, hard to gauge the direction until you are inundated in the bluster-under, and then gone, I wonder if this land, this home, will retain some memory of me, some piece, some energy, nearly my whole life have I haunted this space, I think of being buried here, or maybe my ashes can be spread here, so I may remain, here, in this comfortable familiar earth, my little patch, shared through the ages for sure, mine for now as long as I endure, and I feel peaceful as the wind has washed the toil from my daily brow, even if – only for now.
on the prospect of rain, and mood, and timing, I guess this is like all things, glass half empty, glass half full, deciding which side you are on, as a rule, or as the wind blows they say, ‘they’ who always remain unnamed but seem to have so much sway on the every day being referenced constantly and all, rain – rain in march calling for the coming may, of course the old glory april showers, but today, straddling the boundary between winter and neigh, I am enamored with the prospect of rain, a cleanse, not quite the divinity of a baptism, more like an old school car wash with a bucket and hose, just to wash down this last bit of snow, well, what was once snow, more like a sullied mass of garbage rolled cotton swabs swiped with black shoe polish, maybe the world is always this dirty, just we didn’t notice until the white magnet of snow stuck around on the ground for a week or more, even surviving a temperature soar into the seventies, damn snow, damn snow is stubborn indeed, a seed of the wretched winter itself, a snarling old man in the beat up house down the block by this time in it’s life cycle, without a care, in some withering chair fibers bent and spent, trying to snatch every bit of breath and air until the time has come to move out, in time for a sunny condo to sprout up into the summer dance, yes, I am wishing for rain, on this somewhat dreary day, a grey day, a nice soaking rain, a gateway to that next phase, to see a curbside tide racing toward the corner drain, somedays, most days, I might wish for sun – not today.
is it possible? I feel different today (and yes my coffee has settled in), I mean, I always feel different after a few days off, but something, something has shifted, I feel it, I swear it from the bottom up, toes up spine down, is it days of optimism (ahem, and rest) welled up? perhaps, has not the usual office grime whiped off on me enough, yet? the dreary drive through driving rain (check), am I different from just a few days ago? what has changed? not much, really, something about perception versus reality I suppose, but … I just don’t know, I feel different, hopeful, even downhill among these moguls thrown out in front of me like field mines in all our lives these days, all is well, hell, not anything has changed really but a sunrise in my mind, I spent a few days dreaming, now, you might think I am joshing, no, I literally spent a few days involved in lucid dreaming, an experiment, to the best I could manage, or drive, I visited Hawaii I tell you, certainly not but my mind touched that spot, surely, I can not describe how I did thrive in that environ, especially since it was the whole cloth creation of my imagination, never been to the real place, regardless of the weather outside, the actual weather, there I resided, for a time, snuggly warm inside the real, closed my eyes with a purpose, guidebook in hand mind, as to where I might go, my own ship to steer, and so I did, some of this was mundane, arguments over meals, details about rooms, the usual insane things in our normal day to day even on vacay, but other times, I was indulged, to see friends and former, others and lovers, the never hads and the used to be familiars, it was all there at the fingertips of instant writing memory, as I went and experienced, and so real, what makes it less real? I woke from excitement, anger, passion, and rolled over for more, as the hours went, a day spent, in another world, somewhere I had not been before but could populate so easily with my mind, a charm, the shore, the breeze, the personal interactions, conversations happened, all of the recall, I could quote chapter and verse although, I wrote this journey as I went and came in REM worlds, as real as spent, and today, back in that chair, that desk, that office, I look out my window, birds traveling from rooftop to rooftop… (as have I)
“…in pieces slide, pieces slide out, we are a puzzle with nothing to solve but ourselves.” – some guy aka me
I stand at the gate and the song my heart sings is of the moonlight I stand and I wait for the grace of your hand to cover the moon the roses are blushing, a moonlight seranade
the stars, how they glow, and tonight how their light guides my dreaming, to you, my love, do you know? of course you know, my whispers in your ear streaming, like the meteor shower above this earth, and these heavens combined, has brought this; a moonlight serenade
let us stay here, as long as time in this place of mind, a valley of shared dreams you and I, our hands the circle of space and mind all else remains frozen but our waltzing eyes
so let me not wait to drift to sleep, come to me in that tender dream meet me at the gate, so to sing a sweet lullaby, a moonlight serenade the song of my love, as dreams are only life as made my darling, my love; a moonlight serenade.
(now you tell me, how and where I went, and I might flash you a postcard, if only you can see it)
so last night was not a dream (damn), this morning the wet sheen from the previous was quite white, well, opaque maybe, the lawn glossed over with a uniform one coat of ice, for once the lawn is one color, not a patchwork of the various greens of invasive grasses mated with the varieties I actually planted over these odd years, the uniformity and reflectivity of light is a sight to hold onto, if I didn’t have to get to work that is, so I soak in what I can for a minute, and hop in my car, that same loveliness adorning my lawn you ask? well, not so lovely anymore hanging on the windows of the car, damn I didn’t think of using the remote start thing on my phone, mantra: you don’t have a tube TV anymore, you don’t have a tube TV anymore, maybe that dates me… you don’t have a 56k modem anymore, you don’t have a 56k modem anymore, say it with me now folks, anyway, you get the gist, so, I flip on the heated seat (if you have the means, I highly recommend them), and the defroster, could life be any easier? I do find some amazement that time bends in these situations, I mean, not actually, but our perception might like a geller spoon, or is it the mind that bends, et tu neo? how easily my perfectly laid plans are thrown askew by a bit of frozen dew, inch by inch up from the bottom of the windshield retreating like ice sheets after an ice age, majestic too some, less majestic in this form, but much the same process, sans the boulders dragging out lake beds and the like, every inch is an eternity, I flick my wipers to hasten the process, why does the back window defrost so damn fast? I suppose I could drive backwards to work, maybe if I was a movie star, but I’m not (yet…), my stress is amp-ing up a touch (or two), I must admit, I hate being late even when it is of no consequence, this resides, in my wiring, in the code, the programming base, and then I chance look out to my right, my bum all warm and cozy now, look out the passenger window, and see that beautiful blanket on my lawn, stretching like a treaty across all my neighbors as well, and calm, I feel calm.
and so it descends, frozen invisible prison bars, a brisk cold, hints dropped like falling petals scattered earlier in these past weeks, the crisp bite of fall I called such, but now, full teeth bared gleaming white, the ring leader, the pied piper, reverse reflecting the sun’s light to dominate the sky of night, the stark dearth star, a cold dead desert hypnotizing our hemisphere into submission, sleep… a full moon, of course, conjured up’for hallow’s eve, just as the leaves have been stripped from many trees, that inescapable gaze blazes down on this landscape, no clouds, no shroud to hide in, no, open resistance, a brazen demonstration of barren isolation, Winter; that which slows life like a vice twisting in a thimble, at barely – a – pace, the feel has a beacon, a symbol, a scion, the brightest object in the sky as the world turns cold and colder, twist once more, snow, yes, snow, this morning there was snow, not the type to warm your heart on a christmas morning viewed from a cheery warm window sipping hot cocoa, no, dead falling, falling heavy wet white wolf pelts slapping on the windshield, letting you know the summer you once knew is quite gone, and certainly I did not outfit myself in the proper jacket to deal with this early assault, but no matter, I will not linger here, being stared at, examined, scrutinized, by that dead eye hanging in the sky, the cold isolation, the green of the world has peeled back in reflex, but I was watching, I swear I was watching this time, how did I miss this, the coming loud tide of the cold wave, my breath rises out up into space, drawn up by that nocturnal beaming thief, as I walk I feel the presence of being followed, stalked, tracked across the sky behind my shoulder, just over my shoulder, footstep by footstep by footstep, I notice my feet, the fallen, the fallen leaves are a patchwork quilt, in the day a beautiful sight, but night, now, wet and soaked, dank slippery wetness, the kind where you want to rush inside and peel off your drenched clothes, sit wrapped blanket by a fire, the brand of cold that turns skin blue, the body shrinks back into a shell, yes, the chills, run, run up the spine and through the teeth, chatter, I must devine that my ancestors were not of alpine stock, not if this is my evolved shock, even now, years worn down, years documented on my paycheck to this universe, still, some nights, the moon is a sinister beast, dead reveling in an earthly feast. (and so I retreat, cuddle up with my dog, and sleep)
the night chorus is deafening, a competition? no, more like a party, a rave, perhaps to woo the parting season out the door, is september really up the block? hard to believe the speed of such things, and yet the plague remains making this all one strange stretch of life, will 2020 (with hindsight) become, in all memory, ‘the lost year of covid-19’, finding it’s way into global history like things ‘the dust bowl’ or ‘the great depression’, hard to tell when you are living the thing that will become a historical mark, back to the night outside, or more precisely surround, as loud as the din is (and it is) I find silence in the solemn solace slow march of the clouds, the half moon provides just enough light to watch the gentle behemoths sail on by, stars peek-a-boo, all covered with this loud blanket of bug noise on the ground level, I imagine this is what a hot swamp sounds like all the time, I can not say this is a pure lullaby but the longer I stay to listen, the sneak sooner this seems soothing, the world lays wet from a fresh storm just past moments ago, sparks, flashes of distant others occasionally light the corners of my visible box of sky, but always the sound, like an old coach’s silver neck whistle blown gently but every second without fail rhythmic, waves of this sound, in and out, up and down, tidal sound, I am gladly drowning in the aural sensation, only to be awakened, damn them, the damn devil mosquitoes, their minions making sure I am bound to not dull or not dwell in the symphony, or maybe they are the surrogates or the forward tentacles of the sirens, drawing me in so they may feed on my literal life blood, and I succumb as much as I can bear to endure the performance sung, the odd moth crashes into my hair, stopping there but with wings still flapping, so close to my ear as to hint at invasion into the my inner sanctum, sending skin bumps up and down my spine electric, hairs on end, discomfort, I twitch like a mare, and buck like a bull with a rider, I shake the stowaway loose, I try to again focus on the sky and sound combined, the inverted river flowing above in moonlight, but damn these blood-thirsty beasts, for at this party, no, for at this feast, I have presented myself as the main course, the last engorged orgy before the sleeping season, my legs like stalks of blood sausage presented, pulsing pods of insatiable distraction, and to prove an axiom I slap some flat, there are no free lunches here ya’ bums, and with that I retreat to my sweet air conditioned bubble… calgon, take me away…
So, bear with me, I took the pause this morning (a brief respite to try and take things in before diving into my ‘meaningful’ daily life), and admittedly this morning was a much better view than last, an exceptional one perhaps, the frost was rightly appointed on the lawn begging for attention in the twenty seven degree nation, I just do not have some snappy metaphor on my tongue for the description this morning, the sun was as bright as can be in the winter, just barely peaking out over the crest of the house roof, right in my eyes but not blinding, the dog decides to do a barrel roll in the grass, something she does, always has, I never understood it, but she enjoys it, at least that is my perception, perception is reality, no, reality is reality, I call her inside and get in the car, the ice has formed some perfect snowflake structures on my windshield, not enough to obstruct my view and require scraping, just that nice frosting on the bottom half, the sky is real blue, that nearly singular screaming blue you tell yourself is a ‘perfect sky’, the type of blue you would book online if you could, but somehow, something is missing, at least today, I feel I am in that zone where all cliches seem to be failure, or at least pale platitudes, ignorance is bliss, no, it is just being unaware so you slip into bliss as the other options are not options available at the time, better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, so they say, file this in the bliss/ignorance category,I can feel it pulling, my emotional compass strongly points to her, just one of those things, regardless of the beauty of the day, am I forcing my mood or is this just a natural state, I choose to indulge my staircase downward, tune the tunes to tunes that make me reminisce, you can’t hug a photograph, you can’t caress a dream, but in my mind I wind up doing all these things, I just keep reliving that moment, a kiss to the forehead as I said that goodbye, frozen in time still, a singular moment I can not seem to escape but for forgetting for bits of times, I know I should not dwell there, but I do, I try to think of a see saw, the one side seems heavier down with regret, but to that end would have never led without the love and experience with her itself, every path has an end, we have to traverse the path, this is no linear equation though, there is always a slope downward, time is not a staircase upwards, always onward downward, just the way it works, I suppose my mood is not lifted by the industrial ugliness lining the jersey turnpike as I drive, all crowned by that ultra blue sky, cement dominant boundaries, oil containers, factories, foul smoke rising, that burning flame, drowning in the sameness, lost in thought, locked in a jail of my own thought in this tin box plodding the road along, the rational whispering to remember to savor being alive at all, true, but truth does not always tuck you in to calm, even if you know it should…
be a cliche, today was that summer day, hot, sun bearing down, blacktop hot enough to burn bare feet, I think my plants have adjusted too well to this year’s heavy rains, they have become accustomed to what seemed always available @ immediate now, so we share that weakness of assumption in the snapshot, so, just a mere two days without storm and they all look thirsty, sagging in the swelter, not wishing to see them suffer further, and quite proud of my shiny green thumb, I unreel the hose, and let loose the valve, left squeak, left full turn – squeak, left full circle – stop, I hear the flow rush of the water filling up the coils, I reach down to grab the the iron spray-head, forgetting it was sitting in the blistering sun all day, and damn it’s blazing hot, I juggle and fumble just to squeeze the thing to get the cold water going, I spray my hands immediately, sweet relief, I shower my bamboo, my pride and joy plant wise, my personal banzai, really, each year as it grows into a bigger ball, some of the water hits the driveway, and turns to steam immediately, and there is that smell, not of water, of the chemicals and minerals in the water, escaping as gases in the steam, definitely metallic in nature, one of those smells that remains utterly distinct in life, lake water, charcoal on a fired up grill, the first cut into a ripe pineapple, technology does not seem to touch these things, they were the same and are the same for a hundred years, to generations of summer culture. So, this is a holiday, seems like another day to me, admittedly I expected much more noise outside than this, it is rather quite calm, maybe the heavy weight of the sun has beaten the starch out of life a little today, and the world is in resting phase, but I am sure, on the night, will come the fireworks, to light the sky, mark the occasion, scare my dog, overtures and songs, a holiday throng when fireworks are certainly foreign born. For me, nothing is different tonight, just sitting here contemplating life, fate, the past, the future, what it all means as if I have the means to solve this puzzle in the first place, as the sun sits between the V of two branches, I understand how holidays can isolate, make you feel lonely, all the joyous sounding around, and you are not part of it, of course some of that is by choice, yes I must confess I am not the social butterfly I once never was, has this past year been better, yes, by slow standards, although change happens all around us all the time, inner, personal change does not seem up to speed, the relics of the past, deeds, memories, they are bindings much stronger in comfort than landing first foot in the new world, landing, with wonder, and fear, will that new land be as “good” as the old I left (or should have fled), the fear, even if home was built on the cold stone face of misery, misery loves comfort, for even the walls of a prison can become familiar horizons, to the point where beyond those walls no longer matters, this is why I struggle to construct pillars of reminder, the truth is rather easy and consistent in most things, we know what is right, what must or should be done, in our deepest well lurks the truth, what we know, that our days are quite literally numbered, there is a countdown as to which we are bound but not allowed to witness, but we know of it’s existence, do we all live in the moment, as if this may be our last minute? do I? maybe this is my reminder, my map, my guide, taking the time to let the “important” world slide away and just consider thoughts in writing, and maybe the rest will arrive, in it’s own time, trust not in despair, you know what is there, trust in the fact, that you are alive, you have a choice, choose the nuptials of love and hope, whenever you can, fail, more than succeed, likely, but it is apparent, that for most of us, this was never meant to be easy…
oh yeah, this is part of my ongoing porch project thing… just me, sitting out there, playing guitar more lately but also with my little notebook scribbling all this, I wonder what my neighbors think….
Shades of My Garden 