October, Week 1 in Brigits Flame
The prompt was to start the entry with "There it goes."
There it goes. There it goes, there it goes, oh Lord there it goes!
Damn bus gets earlier every day, Lord, every day. 8:30. 8:29. 8:28. A body can’t be charged with missing it, no, Lord. I suppose the driver is getting uppity. S’pose he thinks I should get up earlier. Eat my oatmeal faster. S’pose he doesn’t mind if I burn my tongue.
Doesn’t matter. I’ll walk then. I’ll walk on my own, Lord, I’ll just get up and walk. I’m not in any hurry. Walking is good exercise. Especially my nice, brisk walk. Not an amble. I never amble, Lord. Ambling is slovenly, and meandering is foolish. No, Lord, I walk, and I’ll walk today.
I’m glad I missed the bus. Very glad indeed, Lord, because the trees all sneezed this morning. Now their vain adornments are tossed about their roots, carelessly as a lover’s robe lying on the bathroom floor. Forgive me, Lord, but I love seeing their skeletons; their bare bones creaking in naked anticipation of winter. Yes, yes, I feel a solidarity with old things. Cracked, creaking, dry, puckered old things. I suppose the bus driver would understand.
Damn these sidewalks. I pay taxes. I pay just as much as anyone else, Lord, why are my sidewalks crumbling beneath my feet? I’m not shoveling this winter, Lord, I’ve decided. No shoveling. No shoveling, no shoveling. I won’t shovel this shattered cement. It’s kitty litter, really and truly, they expect a body to walk on kitty litter sidewalks. It gets tiresome, Lord, anyone would agree: Walking on kitty litter tires a body. Almost makes me wish I’d caught the bus.
I’m going to stop and rest. That’s allowed, Lord. I’m in no hurry to see that doctor. He’s always late. He ought to trade clocks with the bus driver. But Lord I just have to sit. Just for a moment I have to sit. Maybe under one of these trees. I don’t think anyone would begrudge an old prune a few minutes’ rest under a bare cherry tree. S’pose my face will just blend in with the bark. The bus driver might go right past without noticing me.
That’s right. That’s right, that’s right. A few minutes’ rest. To enjoy the autumn landscape. That’s right. That’s all. To enjoy the naked trees. I could keep walking, Lord. I have a nice, brisk walk and if I wished I could make the doctor’s on time. But I do not like the sidewalks. That’s right, not at all. I want to sit and admire the trees for awhile. And perhaps as I admire them, another bus will happen along.
There it goes. There it goes, there it goes, oh Lord there it goes!
Damn bus gets earlier every day, Lord, every day. 8:30. 8:29. 8:28. A body can’t be charged with missing it, no, Lord. I suppose the driver is getting uppity. S’pose he thinks I should get up earlier. Eat my oatmeal faster. S’pose he doesn’t mind if I burn my tongue.
Doesn’t matter. I’ll walk then. I’ll walk on my own, Lord, I’ll just get up and walk. I’m not in any hurry. Walking is good exercise. Especially my nice, brisk walk. Not an amble. I never amble, Lord. Ambling is slovenly, and meandering is foolish. No, Lord, I walk, and I’ll walk today.
I’m glad I missed the bus. Very glad indeed, Lord, because the trees all sneezed this morning. Now their vain adornments are tossed about their roots, carelessly as a lover’s robe lying on the bathroom floor. Forgive me, Lord, but I love seeing their skeletons; their bare bones creaking in naked anticipation of winter. Yes, yes, I feel a solidarity with old things. Cracked, creaking, dry, puckered old things. I suppose the bus driver would understand.
Damn these sidewalks. I pay taxes. I pay just as much as anyone else, Lord, why are my sidewalks crumbling beneath my feet? I’m not shoveling this winter, Lord, I’ve decided. No shoveling. No shoveling, no shoveling. I won’t shovel this shattered cement. It’s kitty litter, really and truly, they expect a body to walk on kitty litter sidewalks. It gets tiresome, Lord, anyone would agree: Walking on kitty litter tires a body. Almost makes me wish I’d caught the bus.
I’m going to stop and rest. That’s allowed, Lord. I’m in no hurry to see that doctor. He’s always late. He ought to trade clocks with the bus driver. But Lord I just have to sit. Just for a moment I have to sit. Maybe under one of these trees. I don’t think anyone would begrudge an old prune a few minutes’ rest under a bare cherry tree. S’pose my face will just blend in with the bark. The bus driver might go right past without noticing me.
That’s right. That’s right, that’s right. A few minutes’ rest. To enjoy the autumn landscape. That’s right. That’s all. To enjoy the naked trees. I could keep walking, Lord. I have a nice, brisk walk and if I wished I could make the doctor’s on time. But I do not like the sidewalks. That’s right, not at all. I want to sit and admire the trees for awhile. And perhaps as I admire them, another bus will happen along.