twinkle tOes...
I worked escorting again last night. I enjoy the extra hours spent following people around, watching them as they work. I was a bit bummed that I didn't get to follow Eddie or Lee around though. Their work is so interesting, and they are a lot of fun to be around.
Still I had a great time and think I might have made a friend that will end up being another "keeper". That said, I do hope that I stay in touch with Eddie and Lee as they have become friends that are close to my heart. I have a feeling that I will be seeing them both again for some time to come, though not as regularly. For now Lee is off to catch a fish 'THIS big!" And I am looking forward to working again on Wednesday and catching up with my new friend in the making... Trying to stay out of trouble!
Last night I walked home under the glow of a big yellow moon. I spent some time in my room in the cozy nook of my bed, bathing in the pink lights of Christmas. I can't understand why people would every take them down. I love the colors they cast across the wall, and the warm glow they fill the room with! I spent a while writing to a friend and drifted happily off to sleep. To be woken abruptly by a munching on my toes and sharp little dagger like pin pricks into my feet. My cats, both determined to sleep on my bed and at my feet, would mistake the toe for a possible portion of the other cat and attack it! Toes are great (though not necessarily for munching). For some reason it made me think of baby toes which lead me to dig up an old poem I like by Pablo Neruda:
To the Foot from Its Child
The child's foot doesn't know yet that it's a foot,
and wants to be a butterfly or an apple.
But then stones and pieces of glass,
streets, ladders,
and the paths of the hard earth
go on teaching the foot that it can't fly,
that it can't be round fruit on a branch.
The child's foot then
was overcome, it fell
in the battle,
was a prisoner,
condemned to live in a shoe.
Gradually, without light,
it started to know the world in its own way,
without knowing the other foot, shut in,
exploring life like a blindman.
These soft nails
of quartz, in a bunch,
hardened, changed into
opaque matter, into hard horn,
and the small petals of the child
got crushed, unbalanced,
took the form of eyeless reptiles,
worms' triangular heads.
And then they grew calluses,
they were covered
with tiny volcanoes
of death, unacceptable
hardenings.
But this blind thing walked
without respite, without stopping
hour after hour,
one foot and then the other,
now a man's
or a woman's,
above,
below,
through fields, through mines,
through department stores and ministries,
backward,
outside, inside,
forward,
this foot laboured with its shoe,
it hardly took time
to be naked in love or in sleep,
it walked, they walked
until the whole man stopped.
And then it went down
into the earth and knew nothing,
because there everything was dark,
it didn't know that it had ceased being a foot,
if they had buried it so that it could fly
or so that it could
become an apple.
take time to wiggle your toes... ... ...