I'm content, I'm ready
I have a purpose, a meaning
There are even silver linings in the rainy days
I've got horses, and music, autumn, friends, reasons not to be lazy, hope and confidence
Horses:
The wind is howling, the sun is shining, the leaves are flitting about, autumnal butterflies.
The leather and hay smell whirls about my head, I move with purpose about my chores
A job I can do
pick the hooves, brush the coat, kiss the nose
get on.
He's a big gray thoroughbred, a year off the track, I think big so he thinks I'm big
The wind blows around us, his mane catches in it, his ears perk to it, his steps move to follow it while the other horses, free in their pastures snort and run with the leafy gusts, kicking their heels and stretching their necks with noses flared, challenging the oncoming cold
A plastic green chair gets caught up and tumbles through our path
He tenses and springs, head high, eyes wide
and me
planted on his back, big.
I feel his power and his trust as he leaps in fear. I sing "easy, woah", His ears turn back to me, I tighten the reigns, he lowers his head, I sit tall and unmoving, he slows and stops, breathing heavily, walking on slowly, my hand on his neck my voice praising him
never a dull moment
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Romance Driving
He liked when I drove
Something about the way I moved the pedal, staying a consistent 75 through the scenery.
I also think because in 5th, I could put my hand on his leg. When playing with gears, my hand does not waver beyond the console as his does.
In the passenger seat he’d roll splifs and deal with the whole ipod thing
When his hand was idle, it was on my leg, or cupped around the back of my neck. A habit from high school we couldn’t seem to break.
I always looked straight ahead but I always smiled.
We talked, often I listened, looking forward and nodding, my hand on his knee, sometimes in my lap to be alone.
We were silent, discovering and rediscovering music, smiling at the same parts, noticing the same details
Pensive eyes out the window, noticing the same things, sharing them only sometimes.
I think he liked when I drove off the exit
Banking the turn, excited with the acceleration, loving my car, humming in its old car voice, rattling just a little, enough to make it feel worn in
His hand brushed the hair out of my face, now I could see his smile peer at me.
I told him once that I had more mistakes to make before jumping in.
He couldn’t wait and I couldn’t wait.
Now he keeps his hand on my knee, and his smile peering, while I drive down the road, making mistakes.
Something about the way I moved the pedal, staying a consistent 75 through the scenery.
I also think because in 5th, I could put my hand on his leg. When playing with gears, my hand does not waver beyond the console as his does.
In the passenger seat he’d roll splifs and deal with the whole ipod thing
When his hand was idle, it was on my leg, or cupped around the back of my neck. A habit from high school we couldn’t seem to break.
I always looked straight ahead but I always smiled.
We talked, often I listened, looking forward and nodding, my hand on his knee, sometimes in my lap to be alone.
We were silent, discovering and rediscovering music, smiling at the same parts, noticing the same details
Pensive eyes out the window, noticing the same things, sharing them only sometimes.
I think he liked when I drove off the exit
Banking the turn, excited with the acceleration, loving my car, humming in its old car voice, rattling just a little, enough to make it feel worn in
His hand brushed the hair out of my face, now I could see his smile peer at me.
I told him once that I had more mistakes to make before jumping in.
He couldn’t wait and I couldn’t wait.
Now he keeps his hand on my knee, and his smile peering, while I drive down the road, making mistakes.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Summer Sundays
All day we moved, slowly in the heat
To the pond with toes in the mud, dogs paddling
To the house, up the hill, crevices sweating, panting
The AC is artificial, cold
the cicadas add to the hot oppression
Cold shower, makeup, dress, bun high on my head
pile into the car, not noticing the drive
rolling fields, emerald mountains transpiring
humidity in action
Rock pillars, exotic flowers, we enter minutes later
we open the door without a knock, happily and loudly greeting an empty atrium
following the smells:
olive oil, garlic, lemon, tomato sauce, pasta
following the music:
Bach, Vivaldi, Chopin, Miles
Her face wreathed in steam, peering from the stove
exclaiming words of affection, abandoning her artful chemistry
embracing us in her love
He walks in from the depths
demanding kisses, attention, loud and boisterous
All hands on deck
the chatting mingles with music, smells, clattering silverware
A warm breeze from the screened patio
the excitement of moving from hot to cold
Salad, pasta, chicken, lemon
freshness everywhere
the shade and the fans rythmic to the music, the chatter
Her flutelike, birdlike voice, singing always a new tune to an old song
sugaring the mood, loving us.
Clattering dishes, we rise and move on
hot to cold, cleaning
cold to hot, grabbing fresh fruit
hot to cold, cleaning
Hiatus
Cool breeze brings horse smell, cricket sounds
cappuccino wafts from the house
cookies, ice cream, sprinkles, whipped cream
Music, singing, reading, lounging
shoes off, feeling fresh
content
loved
To the pond with toes in the mud, dogs paddling
To the house, up the hill, crevices sweating, panting
The AC is artificial, cold
the cicadas add to the hot oppression
Cold shower, makeup, dress, bun high on my head
pile into the car, not noticing the drive
rolling fields, emerald mountains transpiring
humidity in action
Rock pillars, exotic flowers, we enter minutes later
we open the door without a knock, happily and loudly greeting an empty atrium
following the smells:
olive oil, garlic, lemon, tomato sauce, pasta
following the music:
Bach, Vivaldi, Chopin, Miles
Her face wreathed in steam, peering from the stove
exclaiming words of affection, abandoning her artful chemistry
embracing us in her love
He walks in from the depths
demanding kisses, attention, loud and boisterous
All hands on deck
the chatting mingles with music, smells, clattering silverware
A warm breeze from the screened patio
the excitement of moving from hot to cold
Salad, pasta, chicken, lemon
freshness everywhere
the shade and the fans rythmic to the music, the chatter
Her flutelike, birdlike voice, singing always a new tune to an old song
sugaring the mood, loving us.
Clattering dishes, we rise and move on
hot to cold, cleaning
cold to hot, grabbing fresh fruit
hot to cold, cleaning
Hiatus
Cool breeze brings horse smell, cricket sounds
cappuccino wafts from the house
cookies, ice cream, sprinkles, whipped cream
Music, singing, reading, lounging
shoes off, feeling fresh
content
loved
A Windy Night
The wind on the poorly insulated windowpanes screamed and crackled and made us all look towards the orange tinted street outside, like a band of startled horses. My face lit up as I announced, I’m going for a walk! I knew these nights, I needed this night, life was feeling stale. Who wants to join me? I looked around…they looked at each other, I knew what they were thinking and I coaxed them into their layers as I threw on my jacket and mittens.
Lighting our cigarettes in the house to prevent future frustration, we proceeded out the door where the wind greeted us like dogs greet a stranger, barking menacingly and wagging tails. I felt alive and chucked a snowball, running up the hill towards the stairways hugging the stadium, buffeted by the waves of warm and cool air, the lights creating a dull and mysterious ambiance. The gargantuan cement structure was strangely vacant and we weaved through it, running and smiling, emboldened by wind energy. The higher we climbed, the more playful the wind became, the more beautiful the views were and the more alive we felt.
Emerging on level ground, the campus buildings rose as an impressive collaboration against the brackish sky. Crows flew overhead, from tree to building, eerily silhouetted above us. With my hair at the mercy of the world around me, I leaned over the courtyard wall, inviting the air to blow into my face, waking me up and revitalizing me. The city lights extended into the hills around us, becoming more spaced, the ground meeting the horizon, a dark outline barely visible in the night.
We wandered and the wind nipped at our heels, it was everywhere and I was everywhere. It pushed me forward, it rushed in front of me, it warmed me in its absence and it chilled me in its presence. It spoke, Pay Attention! Look Around! Things are Happening and You are part of it!
Wind is restless, it is playful, it knows no boundaries, and it keeps the spirit in awe of the world.
I am a windy night.
Lighting our cigarettes in the house to prevent future frustration, we proceeded out the door where the wind greeted us like dogs greet a stranger, barking menacingly and wagging tails. I felt alive and chucked a snowball, running up the hill towards the stairways hugging the stadium, buffeted by the waves of warm and cool air, the lights creating a dull and mysterious ambiance. The gargantuan cement structure was strangely vacant and we weaved through it, running and smiling, emboldened by wind energy. The higher we climbed, the more playful the wind became, the more beautiful the views were and the more alive we felt.
Emerging on level ground, the campus buildings rose as an impressive collaboration against the brackish sky. Crows flew overhead, from tree to building, eerily silhouetted above us. With my hair at the mercy of the world around me, I leaned over the courtyard wall, inviting the air to blow into my face, waking me up and revitalizing me. The city lights extended into the hills around us, becoming more spaced, the ground meeting the horizon, a dark outline barely visible in the night.
We wandered and the wind nipped at our heels, it was everywhere and I was everywhere. It pushed me forward, it rushed in front of me, it warmed me in its absence and it chilled me in its presence. It spoke, Pay Attention! Look Around! Things are Happening and You are part of it!
Wind is restless, it is playful, it knows no boundaries, and it keeps the spirit in awe of the world.
I am a windy night.
That Night by the Fire: In Words
It takes a while, the four weeks of continual rain having just ended, but we figure it out.
Pile the phragmites, ignite it, stay it with twigs, logs on, give it air, watch it live.
I sit on my rock and roll one, he stares at our handy work, we begin chatting and roasting hot dogs.
We pass a gallon of ice tea back and forth, we make a mess, we laugh, we quiet to listen to the music. Fireworks in the distance.
But is it? It sounds regular, echoing. We perk our ears.
In the custom of speaking his thoughts out loud He says: imagine if those were bombs.
A moment of terror as we look at each other questioning the fantasy of the situation.
…What if?
Our hearts beat, we panic and open up, speaking our minds, we get lost in our own thoughts… are we safe?
Agonizing minutes upon minutes of silence heavy with the burden of life, the implications of our cause for terror.
An arbitrary marshmallow is speared and seared. A bite of heaven ensues.
Smiles, conclusions: we had just entered the twilight zone
Reflections: enjoy life, love the moment, eat marshmallows till sick!
We realize that it is almost a full moon and arise: we must see it from the field on the hill above.
We walk with a flashlight under the protective tunnel of trees, onto a silver green surface of the moonlit field. We run with arms outstretched, smiling upward.
A mission to the shed for cigarettes and Adirondack chairs goes sour when a light goes on at the house, a nosy parental head pokes out and we wheel around, fire bound.
2 missed calls, one text message in 3 minutes. After a passionate argument, she hangs up on me. I become overwhelmed.
Tears, melancholy, deep and exhausted thought.
He roasts a perfect marshmallow and gives it to me. I genuinely smile.
A sound. A howl, many howls, yips, barks. A coyote scuffle nearby causes my heart, for the third time, to explode. I want a hug, arms around me, a head on my shoulder.
He very confidently states, from his chair to my right: Its fine dude, just listen, they’re fine.
I believe him. Beep breaths, submerge in the erie sounds of the wild.
Five minutes of mayhem then utter silence.
Deep, exhausted thought punctured by feelings drifting from our brains through our mouths to each other.
The battery dies, the music ends.
The final marshmallows are enjoyed; we walk from smoldering embers in deep, exhausted, mutually understood thought. Best friends, summertime.
Pile the phragmites, ignite it, stay it with twigs, logs on, give it air, watch it live.
I sit on my rock and roll one, he stares at our handy work, we begin chatting and roasting hot dogs.
We pass a gallon of ice tea back and forth, we make a mess, we laugh, we quiet to listen to the music. Fireworks in the distance.
But is it? It sounds regular, echoing. We perk our ears.
In the custom of speaking his thoughts out loud He says: imagine if those were bombs.
A moment of terror as we look at each other questioning the fantasy of the situation.
…What if?
Our hearts beat, we panic and open up, speaking our minds, we get lost in our own thoughts… are we safe?
Agonizing minutes upon minutes of silence heavy with the burden of life, the implications of our cause for terror.
An arbitrary marshmallow is speared and seared. A bite of heaven ensues.
Smiles, conclusions: we had just entered the twilight zone
Reflections: enjoy life, love the moment, eat marshmallows till sick!
We realize that it is almost a full moon and arise: we must see it from the field on the hill above.
We walk with a flashlight under the protective tunnel of trees, onto a silver green surface of the moonlit field. We run with arms outstretched, smiling upward.
A mission to the shed for cigarettes and Adirondack chairs goes sour when a light goes on at the house, a nosy parental head pokes out and we wheel around, fire bound.
2 missed calls, one text message in 3 minutes. After a passionate argument, she hangs up on me. I become overwhelmed.
Tears, melancholy, deep and exhausted thought.
He roasts a perfect marshmallow and gives it to me. I genuinely smile.
A sound. A howl, many howls, yips, barks. A coyote scuffle nearby causes my heart, for the third time, to explode. I want a hug, arms around me, a head on my shoulder.
He very confidently states, from his chair to my right: Its fine dude, just listen, they’re fine.
I believe him. Beep breaths, submerge in the erie sounds of the wild.
Five minutes of mayhem then utter silence.
Deep, exhausted thought punctured by feelings drifting from our brains through our mouths to each other.
The battery dies, the music ends.
The final marshmallows are enjoyed; we walk from smoldering embers in deep, exhausted, mutually understood thought. Best friends, summertime.
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