A house is not a home.
The house feels empty with Mary gone off to Ohio to help out in a time of illness. I am alone at home. The hum of the fan and the purr of three cats are the sounds of my companions. Yesterday was very hot. Summer comes to an end with her best dress on. We sweated, as we should.
The night air cooled, so sleeping was pleasant. I was up at my desk writing at four a.m., no alarm clock, right on schedule. The world turns just right for me.
A faint gauze of haze overhead, a pale blue revealing itself. Another hot day coming, we're told. I'll take it as it hits me.
No dew this morning. A thick earthy smell to the air, as if beets are bleeding somewhere.
Learning where he's come from and what he's come to, that might be a man's life work.
North of the village, a spray of waste water. Haze closes off the distance. Due west, another thunderhead, like yesterday.
I can see that the leaves on the trees still remember yesterday's heat - they are somewhat wilted and awfully quiet.
At Five Corners, the farmer is at his flowerbeds, hoeing vigorously. The season hurries and the farmer hurries, too.
Five crows cross the road in front of me and one does not. I drive on towards work. What makes sense? I'd like to run away but the day is a bad penny. Sometimes you just want to hug your woman.
A thick earthy smell to the air, as if beets are bleeding somewhere.
Good line!
Posted by: Dave | September 03, 2006 at 08:48 AM
Thanks, Dave. I figure if you write ENOUGH, you'll have to get a good line once in a while, like monkeys typing Shakespeare....
Posted by: Tom Montag | September 04, 2006 at 07:14 AM