Saturday, August 8, 2015

In Search of a Certain Stand

Moonlight falls on the skunk's back while I wander afield in search of a certain stand of thistle. It's nice to walk, and hard to find something when you're happy just looking. She would want to know what purple looks like in the moonlight, which is not precisely the reason I am out here at 2 a.m., but what do I know about motive, really? The one who is not here goes with me, a paradox I decline to be haunted by, and yet return to again and again, a hawk to its gyre, eye to the horizon, and so forth. Chrisoula telling me at the bottom of the hill, I don't need the metaphor, I need the fucking truth. When the skunk hisses suddenly I stop walking. We're closer than we should be, me and this skunk, and stay that way a good two or three minutes, a long time as long times go, facing off in the luminosity of a so-called blue moon, the last for several years. Finally, I give up and turn for home, mostly because the skunk was here first, and also because I forgot why I came. Only in the front yard, resting on the stairs and waiting for the dog to come back do I remember. Oh yes - thistle in the moonlight. Oh well. It's a good life, or a good enough life, and I really shouldn't complain and mostly don't. Though later, trying to fall back to sleep before the rooster starts his raucous howling, I think: I really did want to see it, the thistle in moonlight, and what else opens lovingly in the dark just so.

No comments:

Post a Comment