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613554 Curiosities served
Build your lives by hand
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Things that go to make up a life:
Smooth green stones in a flat, white bowl.
Three votive lamps rusting on the parched brown patio table.
Metamora music through the window: “all those who watch the moon and stars and build their lives by hand, and those in cities proud and tall, I count them all my friends. Devils stop and scream, ‘where does the music come from, where does it go?’ I may know, by and by, but I draw the bow, and I feel my heart fly.”
Half moon shining down on frogsong.
Aunt Helga’s hand-hooked rug from the northernmost village of Alta in Norway.
Chronic low back pain.
Faded memories stored in the songs of old cassettes.
A pink rhododendron, half in bud, half in bloom, squatting on my slippery back lawn.
Wabi sabi simple.
"Hot baths at Harfang tonight".
Bucklebur, unofficial cat mascot of the Brandybucks, swiping his moistened paw against any smooth surface, especially windows when they are between us.
Black waxed linen for bracelets and charms binding me to you.
Benson and Hedges Ultralight 100’s, the sissy-fag of rare choice.
The once and future Uncle Bonsai.
A weathered, unoccupied birdhouse hanging from the back fence.
Oscar de la Joya, Enid and Vera, my houseplants, all gifts and all still alive after almost ten years, despite utter apathy on my part.
KVI Beach, for its witness to my marriages, follies, late-night bonfires, drunken skinny dipping, fort building, walks with Gordon, water birds, beach glass collecting, riparian dreamings, summer lollings.
Sampsa, Sami doll.
IKEA.
Misty Isle rib-eye steaks at Express Cuisine, and overpriced champagne cocktails at the Hardware Store with Jenn.
My parking spot in Yost Park.
Gay Mexican boyfriends.
Potato, potato, potato, hummed by Layla on the summer road.
The North Fork of the Sky, the sunlit summer halo of childhood days and the river.
Girl kisses.
Boy kisses.
Bruce Cockburn’s line, “spirits open to a thrust of grace”.
The waterfall and all that happened there in the world of bubbles, dragonflies and warm, wet dreaming.
Inimitable Aitch-ness.
Turn, turn, turn.
Amen.
Smooth green stones in a flat, white bowl.
Three votive lamps rusting on the parched brown patio table.
Metamora music through the window: “all those who watch the moon and stars and build their lives by hand, and those in cities proud and tall, I count them all my friends. Devils stop and scream, ‘where does the music come from, where does it go?’ I may know, by and by, but I draw the bow, and I feel my heart fly.”
Half moon shining down on frogsong.
Aunt Helga’s hand-hooked rug from the northernmost village of Alta in Norway.
Chronic low back pain.
Faded memories stored in the songs of old cassettes.
A pink rhododendron, half in bud, half in bloom, squatting on my slippery back lawn.
Wabi sabi simple.
"Hot baths at Harfang tonight".
Bucklebur, unofficial cat mascot of the Brandybucks, swiping his moistened paw against any smooth surface, especially windows when they are between us.
Black waxed linen for bracelets and charms binding me to you.
Benson and Hedges Ultralight 100’s, the sissy-fag of rare choice.
The once and future Uncle Bonsai.
A weathered, unoccupied birdhouse hanging from the back fence.
Oscar de la Joya, Enid and Vera, my houseplants, all gifts and all still alive after almost ten years, despite utter apathy on my part.
KVI Beach, for its witness to my marriages, follies, late-night bonfires, drunken skinny dipping, fort building, walks with Gordon, water birds, beach glass collecting, riparian dreamings, summer lollings.
Sampsa, Sami doll.
IKEA.
Misty Isle rib-eye steaks at Express Cuisine, and overpriced champagne cocktails at the Hardware Store with Jenn.
My parking spot in Yost Park.
Gay Mexican boyfriends.
Potato, potato, potato, hummed by Layla on the summer road.
The North Fork of the Sky, the sunlit summer halo of childhood days and the river.
Girl kisses.
Boy kisses.
Bruce Cockburn’s line, “spirits open to a thrust of grace”.
The waterfall and all that happened there in the world of bubbles, dragonflies and warm, wet dreaming.
Inimitable Aitch-ness.
Turn, turn, turn.
Amen.
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