grey on raye

An old house takes time to cool. The floorboards want to return to roots--in the nighttime they can do that without fear of being trod upon. Built here into the hill side it is no wonder the walls seem to cave left. Every molecule of rebar strains against the force of gravity and the sloping gutter that is our street. I can't help but wonder if there really is a beast in the basement-- one who feeds upon our skepticism and dirty laundry. In either case he would be well fed, but probably lonely. There is wisdom in these single-paned windows that heat cannot keep in. I hear sullen whispers of 80 years of memories etched into every particle of dust that coats these vents. I think the house wants a family. I guess even houses long for a home.

A String of Pearls

Bike into town with my parents.

Farmers market.

Over easy eggs, potatoes and bacon.

Raspberry Italian Soda.

Marina Market licorice.

Glenn Miller hits galore.

All the sun and the shade one could ask for.

What a perfect Saturday.

Oh Canada!

Welcome to Canada, it's the Maple Leaf State.
Canada, oh Canada it's great!
The people are nice and they speak French too.
If you don't like it, man, you sniff glue.
The Great White North, their kilts are plaid,
Hosers take off, it's not half bad.
I want to be where yaks can run free,
Where Royal Mounties can arrest me.
Let's go to Canada, let's leave today,
Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait.
They've got trees, and mooses, and sled dogs,
Lots of lumber, and lumberjacks, and logs!
We all think it's kind of a drag,
That you have to go there to get milk in a bag.
They say "eh?" instead of "what?" or "duh?"
That's the mighty power of Canada.
I want to be where lemmings run into the sea,
Where the marmosets can attack me.
Let's go to Canada, let's leave today,
Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait.
Please, please, explain to me,
How this all has come to be,
We forgot to mention something here.
Did we say that William Shatner is a native citizen?
And Slurpees made from venison,
That's deer.
Let's go to Canada, let's leave today,
Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait.

It smells like the moment before a gun shot.

12 steps away from getting run over and two blackberries later,

I am home.

It's nice to be here again.

how summer thoughts are spent.

Sometimes I think I have the stupidest fantasies ever.

Who dreams of canning vegetables and picking strawberries in patched overalls?

Why do I keep thinking about wrap-around porches and sun tea and riding horses?

Will I give a speech when my squash wins at the county fair?

I get emotional about a rustic smell that will become familiar after we've spent the afternoon splitting fence posts and baling hay.

Calico will be my fabric of choice. Followed closely by gingham. Burlap for the flour sacks. Because we will have those, dammit.

I want to dance to Brooks and Chesney without it being a joke.

Wheat will be in my mouth at all times, except when I am kissing my toned shirtless farmer at sunset whose skin can be found somewhere between dirt and sweat.

There will be barn parties and early morning suns with handmade quilts and fresh black coffee enjoyed in a rocking chair.

There will always be cold lemonade in a mason jar for the weary traveler, and trips to town will be a planned affair.

Perhaps an RV, just in case the farm life gets old.

But I don't think it will. And anyway, maybe thats the point?

I can't take you there.

I am sick and tired of boys who see women as another step towards fulfilling their manhood.

Where have all the cowboys gone?

I am not the next step on the ladder. I am not the ladder. I am not even the top of the ladder, though you seem to believe otherwise.

By now you gotta see that I am on the ladder right fucking next to you. Trust me, the winds are shaking mine too, and I want to reach out for you to save me from the fall.

But God knows when I reach this frame tilts and quakes. The only way back to safety is to keep our feet firmly planted eyes up arms steady wills strong desires greater than what is within our immediate grasp of fear.

I will scale these heights with you and share the view from the top. We will leave our fears behind, dance on the roof of our inequities, praise the God who taught us how to love.

But we climb our own ways. Until then we climb alone.

To not send a letter.

God do I miss you. I know the spot on my knee that makes my elbow electric, and it never ceases to amaze me. I want to chain smoke you. They know all about me. Your father, god your father, what must he think? It wasn't supposed to happen the way I think it might be happening. Because you left. It was for the best but you just left and I still have your clothes! I want the smoke of my pipe to float to your place in the world and whisper my breath in your ear. No one else knows the timbre of my voice as you so desired the fluctuations intonations even the silences. I want the future chance to tell you. That a river runs through this heart and it never stops until it finds your embrace your words your hands. It would be selfish to do it now but when will it be too late? I won't give you an inch until I am ready for the endless miles of what lies ahead, and that road trip hasn't started yet. I take time but my mind has a mind of its own, and we both love the books. I never let myself mourn for you cried my eyes out saw you leave but I was brave why did you have to make me be brave? I know you felt me crying because your shirt was wet with snotty tears that I often dream you never washed away. You are the good read I always come back to and have never finished. I have dog-eared your pages (didn't mean to hurt you like that!) Bent the binding written on your margins held you in my hands until the sweat from your palms dripped blood and the pages were too blurred to read. This was no Dick and Jane but you made it so easy for the ideas to resonate. Did I say resonate? I mean't haunt. You haunt me. But I have to put you on the shelf because it is shellfish to do anything else in my current state and you deserve ALL and I know you don't mind shelves anyways, as long as there are books nearby. Just don't wait for me if it hurts. It is all happening the way it is supposed to. The trees tell me so.