construction dumpster trailer will change his life, he says to me long distance.
I'm looking at it now parked out in front – it's huge! Its my neighbor's,
he just brought it up. Once I get rid of all this stuff, things will
start happening – this junk has been holding me back! Two weeks later he
calls again full of good spirits: it was good, hard work. It rained, I went about it all in my yellow rain suit, all that crap now soggy and 3x as heavy. Here's to Big Changes! Amen, I say.
just starts talking. We haven't talked in more than a year. I hear the ice rattle in her empty glass. She says nobody finds
her attractive anymore. I ask her the last time somebody showed interest
– at the bank, grocery store, gas station – she says never. I tell her
she's not paying attention. She tells me of a guy she is interested in, but
he is not available because… he's entering seminary. That's convenient. To be sure he's years older, salt-n-pepper hair, soft-spoken, wears heavy sweaters. Oh my god, she sighs.
is for people doing well, not for those of us who are not. I see old friends grouped around their spouses, children in matching bright
white shirts and denim. A message from a girl who toiled as K teacher
a few years in the mean streets of the Marina, before landing a husband, moving to Tiburon. Another has never married, no kids, but now has
an amazing bf and a Brand. New. Puppy. Perhaps, if we
were such good friends wouldn't we have been in contact these last 25 years.
sun came out just as he spied the singletrack trail. A quick u-turn, he hopped over the knee-high grasses and landed, the earth squishing
out water, now saturated. He clipped along the slick clay
bank sections, hopping over bare roots, rock gardens – looking at both footfall
challenges and the lake reflecting the 330 sun. One steep peak
had to be walked both up and down for fear he'd slip off, into the water 30' below. He was excited – a new trail heavy with spring green right next to the shore.
You seem like the perfect girl to join me up here on the mtntop,
Mike says aloud though alone out back after work with beer. He's talking
to the gardening magazine just pulled from the rusted mailbox down on the road. Sweet, cute, a bit quirky looking from recent European roots. Blonde, with an imperfect smile that matters as most as
anything. She's standing amongst herbs plots, their bright greens matching
her knee-high rubber boots. He raises his head to take another drink, his eyes looking out on the postcard valley view.
breathy, whispering voice carries out the backdoor. Hey,hey,hey,hey-ey
– the girls sing along by now, the styles throughout seem to keep their
attention. I’m just liking it all, the whole Anglo-Franco package. A simple pleasure, not unlike sitting out here right now with green all around,
warm sun, the girls playing over there in the Beautiful Tree. Even the
faux-bohemian, Scientologist doesn’t bother me now, plus I can hear
Danger Mouse scurrying about nicely. Those strings are nice too. Maybe a knock
in the head is what I need too?