Sunday Morning

Some gold light out there, I mean to head out with my pail. Made my morning smoothie, some good coffee--strong and fragrant, and am about to be gym-bound.


My head is filled with a chorus of maybes and a never that I keep where nevers can't cut. I did not go to the Holiday Hop last night and I am a little sorry. I wanted to stay in, be warm, think about the kind of eyes that contain sunsets in every single way and the kind that look like good green light from the space in the woods that leads into a tree, the kind that will follow you into such forests and will make a little home with you there. I am thinking of Sicily, how lovely, how fierce and how I've never been there and how I don't know that I'll ever get there. Not really.

Yesterday was the kind of restless you get to be when a Friday night casts a particular kind of creepy glow into Saturday that starts the day neon and then makes it a little more like the jagged edges of the glass tubes to contain all that chemical light. But not only that. There was a whole held night, its breath or mine, who can say? In place or in memory, no matter. By a thread or over fire. Out, off, on, or in. So many ways to hold a thing or hold it back. It's what oceans and fires can best outsmart, but the heart is its own element.

But then too, an afternoon of good conversation and beautiful books and talk of words and old-fashioned candystands and malted milk tablets that came in glass bottles like pills.

This morning came in with the voice that wears the bear-shirt. All of the days gone-by and the days-ahead come down to the stuff of slumber parties and staying up all night to imagine what living forever could be.

And don't you like the dress I bought you?
in the lady store in town