Forse qualche giorno
Tension hangs heavy over this place. My mother hates my presence. I may just leave for her birthday, a gift from me to her. As everyone left for the day I decided to as well.
I drove out to the end of the road. Passing by the Home payphone I considered dialing the two usual persons whom I would like to help me get better. No doubt they would be "busy." If only they knew how many times I have cried out their names in the vain hopes they'd appear and lend a hand. Only of course they never do.
The beach and gated road had the usual overgrowth in the middle. Perhaps someone should brush cut it. With me were three bags of papers, old bills and other remnants of past failures. If only ridding other things were as easy as striking a match.
Popping out of the foliage at the base of the hill by the lagoon I spied a tent and campers on Daubert's side. Avoiding any possibility of talking to people I trek north along the bluff shore. Their dog barks but they do not detect my presence.
In a shady section I clear out a hole in the sand and gather some twigs and branches around a clump of undesirable paper. Everything has dried out to the point that I do not need to add the petrol to get it to burn. Boats zoom and slowly slip by. I turn away facing the cliff. This cliff runs from one lagoon (Blue Moon) to another (Johnson's Wildlife) and various vegetation, poison oak, alder, fir, scotch broom, madrona, and blackberries droop over and down the edge. The direct afternoon sun ripened these berries earlier than those in the forest. I consider taking a bunch for someone, damn my social consciousness, but have nothing suitable for long haul transportation.
Content that the incoming tide will flood the smoldering fire I head back to the car. I decide to angle to Eric's for old time's sake. I wait awhile as today being Saturday they are busy. Country girls and their significant others take numbers behind me. I gaze long enough to take the female image in and then return to the classifieds. Free kittens remind me of someone else, but that gesture would never work out either.
When the usual order comes up I take it out. A park like setting is what I need. I miss the nature trail parking turn, again. Too late to flip a U. The power line park has people parked, doing something.
Where does the time go? I gaze at my remaining funds, single dollar bills with names of Larry Summers, John Snow, Paul O'Neil, Mary Withrow, and Rosario Marin. We are more than halfway through the double zeroes, collectively dubbed the G W decade.
There's a nice, cool breeze here at the Vaughn Cemetery. Ancient legend says that the wind was once created by the trees waving back and forth to one another. I sit underneath the shadow of four large fir trees. "How long will they last?" I wonder while staring at woodpecker holes and ants. The ants smell food though and want the crumbs in the bag.
For now I remain alone, in a sense. The last few times have been crowded; perhaps mass funerals or volunteer cleanup. After thirty minutes of eating and relaxing, contemplating the past and present, a vehicle pulls in and I decide hop into the Caprice and pull out.
I surf the net from the library, checking email, and possible activities to do. If I so desire I could attend a concert for ten bucks mid August. I neglect to search for a sign up for a trail work party. I could feel useful again.
The Rainiers win the opener of a four game series with Omaha 9 to 3. Felix Hernandez does a rehabesque start, four shutout innings. Scott Atchison does his rehab inning yielding three runs, one on a wild pitch. Thus the victory gets assigned to Jeff Heaverlo who follows. Dobbs and Choo hit home runs. Leone drives in two with a single in the seventh.
Let me hear you blow your horn
{Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep} Shake it, baby
{Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep}
{Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep} Rock it, baby
{Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep}
Movin' violations are easy to fix
Just tell the deejay to fix it in the mix
Shake it up and shake it on down
Let me feel you movin', you gotta get down
I drove out to the end of the road. Passing by the Home payphone I considered dialing the two usual persons whom I would like to help me get better. No doubt they would be "busy." If only they knew how many times I have cried out their names in the vain hopes they'd appear and lend a hand. Only of course they never do.
The beach and gated road had the usual overgrowth in the middle. Perhaps someone should brush cut it. With me were three bags of papers, old bills and other remnants of past failures. If only ridding other things were as easy as striking a match.
Popping out of the foliage at the base of the hill by the lagoon I spied a tent and campers on Daubert's side. Avoiding any possibility of talking to people I trek north along the bluff shore. Their dog barks but they do not detect my presence.
In a shady section I clear out a hole in the sand and gather some twigs and branches around a clump of undesirable paper. Everything has dried out to the point that I do not need to add the petrol to get it to burn. Boats zoom and slowly slip by. I turn away facing the cliff. This cliff runs from one lagoon (Blue Moon) to another (Johnson's Wildlife) and various vegetation, poison oak, alder, fir, scotch broom, madrona, and blackberries droop over and down the edge. The direct afternoon sun ripened these berries earlier than those in the forest. I consider taking a bunch for someone, damn my social consciousness, but have nothing suitable for long haul transportation.
Content that the incoming tide will flood the smoldering fire I head back to the car. I decide to angle to Eric's for old time's sake. I wait awhile as today being Saturday they are busy. Country girls and their significant others take numbers behind me. I gaze long enough to take the female image in and then return to the classifieds. Free kittens remind me of someone else, but that gesture would never work out either.
When the usual order comes up I take it out. A park like setting is what I need. I miss the nature trail parking turn, again. Too late to flip a U. The power line park has people parked, doing something.
Where does the time go? I gaze at my remaining funds, single dollar bills with names of Larry Summers, John Snow, Paul O'Neil, Mary Withrow, and Rosario Marin. We are more than halfway through the double zeroes, collectively dubbed the G W decade.
There's a nice, cool breeze here at the Vaughn Cemetery. Ancient legend says that the wind was once created by the trees waving back and forth to one another. I sit underneath the shadow of four large fir trees. "How long will they last?" I wonder while staring at woodpecker holes and ants. The ants smell food though and want the crumbs in the bag.
For now I remain alone, in a sense. The last few times have been crowded; perhaps mass funerals or volunteer cleanup. After thirty minutes of eating and relaxing, contemplating the past and present, a vehicle pulls in and I decide hop into the Caprice and pull out.
I surf the net from the library, checking email, and possible activities to do. If I so desire I could attend a concert for ten bucks mid August. I neglect to search for a sign up for a trail work party. I could feel useful again.
The Rainiers win the opener of a four game series with Omaha 9 to 3. Felix Hernandez does a rehabesque start, four shutout innings. Scott Atchison does his rehab inning yielding three runs, one on a wild pitch. Thus the victory gets assigned to Jeff Heaverlo who follows. Dobbs and Choo hit home runs. Leone drives in two with a single in the seventh.
Let me hear you blow your horn
{Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep} Shake it, baby
{Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep}
{Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep} Rock it, baby
{Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep}
Movin' violations are easy to fix
Just tell the deejay to fix it in the mix
Shake it up and shake it on down
Let me feel you movin', you gotta get down