Tuesday, October 20, 2020

Lonely in the Way One is Lonely

Maple leaves on the front stairs, brittle with frost. To live is to remember in a very selective and deliberate way, which means that much is forgotten, and it is in forgetting that both love and peace surpass understanding and thus are known. Waiting in a line outside the hardware store, saying "good morning" but not much else to those arriving to also wait. Morning passes limbing apple trees, all of us together, laughing at Jeremiah clowning in sunlight, and calming the blind horse for whom loud noises are now orders of magnitude more stressful. After lunch - baked beans, breakfast sausage, scrambled eggs with onions and peppers - we take down whole trees near the pasture. My heart which was never not broken breaks a little more. Winter informs us it intends to linger, maybe stay forever, according to the whims of the God of No Gods. The ripping sound letting go, the thumping falling. Chrisoula and the kids reminisce about the dogs, how protective they were of the chickens, how I slept outside with them at night, sleeping bag here and there in the yard, all sorrows that I cannot go into as deeply into as they can. A sigh seeing the moon so pure and bright in the briefly rainless sky. One is lonely in the way one is lonely when one has come a long way alone to the Country of Marriage as once contemplated in another, less Godless, age. It passes but man, what the passing takes as it goes.

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