Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Through the window, the leaves obscure the view. At first glance, the red looks like flowers that have sprouted overnight and hang suspended between the intense green that hides even the fissured grey-brown bark of the tree trunk and slender branches weighed down with all that heavy silver-green, yellow-green, sun browned green, and violent raucous green. The red isn't from flowers or sunburned anything but the roof top of the Lon Chaney house next door. This is the first time I've seen so little of the roof as to be fooled into thinking some exotic high canopy orchids have attached themselves to the leaves overnight.
All this green filters out the bright summer sun as the days stretch and reach towards the longest day of the year, tomorrow, June 21st, to balance the shortest day a mere six months ago that seems more and more like last week. The sky is bold and unafraid of the coming days when the sun will shine a little less like brass and the nights will creep out for longer and longer periods until once again we are poised on the other arm of the balance where day and night share the hours equally and then give way to night again. Nothing lasts forever, not long blistering days or dark freezing nights when the world is softened by the thick muffling expanse that sparkles like fairy dust beneath the soft blue of moonlight. Each day, bold as a street corner whore stopping cars and offering her favors for nickels, dimes, and quarters or shy as mice under the watchful eyes of a hungry cat, is different and full of possibility. Today is another such day.
Thoughts of the man tired of waiting for some day, make me weak with desire, stir carefully banked holocausts of passion, and send me into dreams of being kissed senseless and ravished without regret or apology. He no longer wallows in the fantasy of responsibility or martyrdom to the superficial semblance of social appearances. He hungers for fulfillment and adventure and he knows where to find it. I'm waiting.