Sub-Text

What's being said isn't always on the surface. Even in everyday conversation what's not said might be the key. Very few things are ever literal. All those hand-prints in the earliest French and Spanish caves? Probably female. A hand person, a specialist, finally looked at them and took a million measurements, and decided it was mostly women that did the drawings. I'm not surprised. The attention to detail. Be in a specific place at a specific time. This is when the salmon come upstream, this is when the elk come down from the high ground, this is when we harvest acorns. It's all laid out, in a woman's hand. "Darling, could you kill a bear this week? We need the fat." Food storage and cooking vessels come into play, and we've pushed ceramics way back into time. We were making pots before we had a name for them. A container in which to store something. By the time we started harvesting grain, we already had a system; and I'm sure we already had names for the various stages of the fermentation process. Awoke to rain; coffee, beans and an egg on toast. Went down the creek, to get to town, because I knew they were pouring the bridge bed today. No problem getting down the driveway. It rained most of the day and I didn't want to haul trash to the dumpster, so I organized and cleaned in the basement. Supposed to be nice tomorrow, so I can deal with the trash then, and get the theater clean for Pegi's Halloween program with the Cirque, this weekend and next. The fair Fatima came in today, to request that I take two of her classes through the museum next Wednesday. I am the docent of choice. A low-key day, and I needed that, I was hurting a little, and I don't heal like I used to. That last 'and' occupied me for an hour, and I eventually decided to keep it, because I felt I needed the beat. "And I don't... ". We can have our punctuation issues in private. Going home, I was pretty sure the ford would be open, though slicker that snot on a doorknob, and it was, had to shift into four-wheel drive, and fish-tail coming up the other side. Just getting home is a chore, but the last leg, getting up the driveway, is a piece of cake; graded and compacted, it's like driving down the freeway. Or up the freeway. An ode to passage. Just a soprano and a finger guitar.