Sunday, August 7, 2011
The landscape here makes me feel small. When the secrets of the thick fog reveal themselves at dusk the mind is transported to a place where anything is possible.
Holding mugs of hot coffee in the cool mornings while looking out at the stillness of the bay, Bob Dylan's Isis in the background. I've been floating, suspended somewhere above my usual reality, drifting back into my past, forward into potential futures, and landing back in the beauty of the limbo present.
I remember walking beside my mom, the young cool chick with long dark hair. We are in the mall and she is asking the clerk in the record store if they have that new Dylan album, the one with Hurricane.
There's the future I'll keep secret so I don't write it away, and the words I'll type, but not say.
The calf has escaped, she's beyond the barbed wire fence, and appears to have done so without bloodshed.