Thursday, October 13, 2011
How We Do It - Part V in an ongoing series
I wake each morning in the cracks between dark and dawn, the first thought wispy peaceful intention threaded with dread, pushed away and vanquished by the thin band of light that angles through tangled rubbery leaves draped over the wooden fence and through the glass, along the wrinkled sheet and down the bed, spilling over. I wake to breath, to hope, to fear and trembling, the weight of the past and the future eclipsed. Is she alive? How will we do it? How will I? The questions are the light; they reach across the hall and into rooms, the answers could go anywhere, and I can't explain how it is to tamp it all down, make like a stream, unruffled and quiet.
The beginning is near.