Here’s what I like about the first warm week of nights in the new year. I like the long drag of the trash can crescendoing down the driveway to its overnight resting place. The periphery of neighborhood sounds directly after. The tire hiss off a ways descending down to Limeport. The plane lights blinking, yellow white, red, way up above, its engine hum far behind the flicker. The stars. Orion. The spotlight on the dry dead grass. Bleached beige. The quiet billowing behind twilight. The silhouette of our cat coming from across the street. The dead wind. The dying down of humanity after their meaningless day working for what? The acute ear has its way of leveling pertinence for a tiny glimpse of perfection. How silly that’s all some have come to need before next day’s dawn. Others, not even that. I sit on the sidewalk beside the trash, smiling. Bowing. Drinking a beer.
(3.9.16)
