i think of you a thousand times a day,
i think a thousand things
about the dreams sifted through time
and memory
and heartbeats—
lives running parallel
on this side of my own reality
and in the alternate realities of thousands
hot summer days with the early morning sun shining through leaves and petals — making shadows on the walls like paintings on canvas, like unconscious meditations
the hazy noon lull creeps upon us — a listless veil of drowsy breezes caresses our afternoon nap-time dreams
the evening closes late, a holiday dive-bar atmosphere of abandon — another summer day locked up tight, slips softly from the present, right into the past
her mind holds stories and silent spaces—
an alabaster sarcophagus, a bowl of sacred secrets
spotted orchids in the morning sun
baby tears in pretty bottles
tiny fawns amid the ferns
bird houses in a forest clearing
dragons on the old table
He distrusted her affection; and what loneliness is more lonely than distrust?
Excerpt from Middlemarch, by George Elliot, 1871 &1872
oh my sweet and tender-hearted girl,
i feel you
i steal you
i reel you
onto my table-top orbit—
i was once new
i was once true
i was once you
cardinals coming and going—flying through the slats on the little side porch, eating at the feeder, drinking in the fountain
a single peony shimmering in the morning sun
cups of orange spice tea on cool nights
family gatherings with pineapple popsicles
glasses of deep red wine into the night
cool linen sheets for afternoon naps
I took a photo of the white tulips, a quick shot, a forgotten snap.
The next morning, I posed them on the table adding a canvas to the background, a candle in the foreground, lights on and lights off, an interesting book, some seashells.
In the end the best shot was the simple one I’d taken the day before, as I was headed for the dog leash and a late afternoon walk.
So much of life is like this, where the un-orchestrated is the most pleasing, the image that works.
Note to self: allow things to be themselves, independent, uncluttered and free— people, ideas, love, tulips.
you forgot her—
and it set the course of my life
spanishwoods 