Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Shines off the Hudson River and into the bus in early-morning sparks; makes me blink as I dive into Oryx and Crake, on my way upstate. Bursts through bleached-cotton clouds as they play their skychasing games.
I love all the seasons here, but there’s something somehow extra special about these bright soft cool days, traces of summer and hints of fall. Mountain-top trees still green, sun-colored cheeks still flushed, belly-butterflies still flitting. I guess these patterns of attracting the ephemeral and transitional are because I am still Not Settled. I love my paths, my bubbles, my worlds. Sure would be nice to have some company for the road, though. Even if it’s in a vaguely similar direction, instead of the parallel path I for so long expected, hoped for. Sure would be nice.
Spills through closed blinds, waking me too early; I sneak a peak and dive under the arm, the pillow. Ignites fiery tops of trees in fires of sienna and brick and tea and cherry-tangerine and amber and burgundy browns.
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