Cool Front

Sent: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 3:26 AM
Beautiful late dawn, overcast, gentle rain. A thousand shades of green glistening and that lovely sound of water falling on leaves. I move downstairs to the sofa so I can watch through the patio doors. I read some Hannah Arendt (continuing the tutorial on loneliness) "The Human Condition", then some "Walden", then some of Joan Didion's lovely memoir on the death of her husband. Clean up and wash my hair on the deck; shave, and make another coffee inside, consider a meal. I harvest some poke weed stalks, which are mildly poisonous, but if you cut them into pieces and peel them, you lose the toxin; dip them in egg, then cornmeal, and fry them, they're really quite good. Probably have no food value beyond the egg and cornmeal, but that's ok. The pith, or whatever it is you're eating, kind of dissolves in your mouth. Like eating Sea Cucumber, or chitlins, for that matter, if they're done perfectly. Whatever that perfectly fried exterior. A sub-tutorial on what's really important. That first bite is really important. A perfect fried crust on anything is a major feat. I set the bar very high, not because I think I can jump it, but because I know there is someone who can. My language is only what I can manage, most everything misses me. Live alone long enough you lose track. The relationship between you and anything else. I think I know what I'm trying to tell myself. Too much vibrato and not enough substance. Harmony can be misleading. Change ringing. That'll be the day. An Irish harp, too much time alone, a bridge to nowhere. A penny whistle makes a kind of sense. Bagpipes. Crossing the moor.