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| reserved for p. senter |
driving isn't a hassle the way it used to be. the roads here stretch out long and lean like a supermodels legs across the valley. the horizon is as open as a minit mart at midnight, and the scenery as intoxicating as the forties of malt liquor on it's shelves. traffic, well that's just out of the question.
these days i love monday, magic monday, because monday is my day off after the weekend rush, and the day i run my errands in town. the twenty minute drive, with the view through that cracked windshield of mine, makes it all worthwhile. today, i went the wrong way, a detour that probably cost me twenty minutes, but i had the privilege of sighting a family of deer crossing the tracks, nibbling rain washed foliage. living here, i never feel alone. i can sense the thousands of little hearts, beating here and there, in the bushes or on a wire, foraging for food and raising young, doing what they do, keeping mostly to themselves, and keeping busy. it's this kind of buzz, the quiet hum of persistent life force, that is becoming quite a new addiction.
Just the other night we were standing outside listening to the hum of the power lines. Love that this painting accompanies the text here.
ReplyDeleteI fell in love with the snails and their little snail trails. You could always tell if they were coming or going....
ReplyDeletechristy: i know! iknow! snails and their sparkly little paths.. and its amazing how something so small could eat so much! you would love the tadpoles and miniature frogs at johns. they're everywhere!
ReplyDeleteheather: isn't it surreal to imagine that hum being divided amongst all our tv's and refrigerators?