construction

Everything is changing today. The neighbor is getting a new roof. Someone down the street has a bunch of men climbing in and out of trucks with tools. They are tearing down, replacing, building up, patching, painting and making something look different while functioning the same. A lot of people are doing this too. They get their stickers, their badges, and the ability to stick their nose up at me just a little higher. That is fine. The things that matter to me are still here. The green hasn't left the trees yet and the cloudless sky shows me there is still a blue that makes me smile. It thrusts me back to a day of laying in the yard one day after work. I was laying in the grass, writing lyrics to song, thinking about how much in love I was, and wishing I was on the plane flying overhead to anywhere. That's the feeling that is here now. I am getting anxious. I'm sizing up things, mentally building boxes for the things in my room; for the moving truck or the landfill. It feels like a neighborhood of exhausted avenues. Everything feels like things that should be thrown away. Everything is changing today, just like it did yesterday. I need trash bags for the differences.

12 hours ago...

I was at LAX. I was dropping of friends for a trip to New York City. I was driving one of their cars and I thought about parking it and buying a ticket to somewhere. I love flying. A little part of me hurt, literal pain in my stomach, from being so close to security and ticket agents and 5 dollar pints and baggage claim and not participating. My bank account got the best of me. Time to plan another trip!

a resurrection of sorts

I drove on a freeway over hills I've traveled many times before, mostly a passenger. The car had driven me small distances around town, to an airport once, and once home from one. The sun dropped over the mountains and at moments split the space between the visor and the car in front of me. It was blinding, but for only seconds. A song on the stereo full of f.m. static I've heard and danced to before sounds different. The passenger let trails of smoke from her cigarette sweep out of the rolled down window. The thought, then the smile on her face, her legs crossed in an easter dress, the very yellow rays of a sunset everywhere. My arms, half covered, tried to steady the steering wheel and take this all in. Somewhere someone is thinking of their savior rising from a grave. Me, I'm taking a picture and hoping to escape my own.

wordless wednesday - ...if you’re really finally mine

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