Saturday, January 23, 2016
It's Saturday in the middle of nowhere. The twang of the guitar man jumps from the radio speaker latticework. My darling has spun off to the big city, but only temporarily, which leaves me on my own to make the middle of nowhere a little more notable. How so? Well, what I like to do is let all concepts of time disappear. What I like to do is imbibe a special brew of coffee. The new white snow reflects all the sun's photons that passed through the manifold pillow of cloud over the local skyscape and lots of it spills into our living room. Should I go on? Should I disappear from the web? It has left me only disconnected. The community out in the cold. Me and mine inside four walls just a-living, breathing rattled from a small spell of bronchitis. I'm on the mend though. I can only pray the world's on the mend, the community's on the mend. I won't pretend the world's peachy, nor will I be preachy. It's not my place. Like I said, it's Saturday in the middle of nowhere. Throw my worries under the rug, roll up that rug, and beat out its dust on the stoop. Brothers, our troubles are locked in each other's arms. Better pray. Let it fly away. We can be strong for to beat back those burdens of the tough and topsy-turvy terra firma. Maybe, just maybe, I'll transcend, and you will too. It's a gamble, this big ol' world. I'm talking to you, Subaru owner and Kidnonymous. The orchestra takes us for a ride along timpani resoundings, violin pizzicato, cello bellows, twee piccolo solos, and the tableau of stiff tuxedo blues. I won't lead you down through misery. I flip your descent into your ascent. And I'll do it for not even one cent. Free of charge. Moments small and large fit in my denim pocket, and I keep them there to bleed into the blue and to rinse away in the wash. Nosh on snowflakes. Nosh on granola. I say goodbye, and, o, how contrary of you, you say hola.