The slant of light

Aug 13, 2005 19:16

My favorite thing is going out in late afternoon, letting the Fuzz outside with me (off leash!) and keeping an eye on him while he partakes of the abundant roughage in the yard. I sit on the porch swing or the tree swing or follow him slowly in the shade, sipping cool water, listening to the hot wind blow, and watching the dragonflies skim above the grass. A pair of mockingbirds might be alarmed by our presence and sit above us in the black walnut tree, scolding with sharp chucks, but the Fuzz pays them no mind. His eyes are the color of August oak leaves. The cicadas and grasshoppers are buzzing. The windchimes ring once or twice, softly. It's very hot, and there's nowhere else in the world. It's the time of day, the precise season and amber slant of light that filled me with peace and exquisite sadness when I was 14. It still does.

Dar Williams "The End of the Summer" is a musical equivalent of the moment after this time and place.

But Saturday evening I went out, and the sun was slanted as long and the light was as honey colored and the air as hot and the cicadas' song as ancient, but there was a large, kind wind. It made the world feel like it was going somewhere. Like there *are* other times and places. Instead of sitting still, I swung in the tree swing long and high til I was dizzy with the sun flashing through the branches and the light-streaked grass looming and receding, looming and receding.

Backdated 14 August.

home, the slant of light

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