Grey light spreads from an overcast sky. Wind animates a few dead sycamore leaves clinging to late winter branches. I swept the house and threw the trash. Not hot of mind, gone inward, trying out new words. Cedar and elm logs rot under dead leaves and a pulled shrub. Bright green crabgrass and dandelions sprout new as the season changes, spring coming closer. Hoa and K went to buy eggs, her belly—big as it is—barely noticeable under her red jacket. Fucking last night, I reached for her but she continued stretching out, her full body long with baby across the sheets. What a strong kick that kid's got! No idea what that means, feeling movement in the quiet TV light of nothing gone out across the room and through our eyes into our skin and organs. Wish I had within me now the simple clarity of Vanity of Duluoz, a near psychic penetration of the living cells as they're caught in ever-changing time. Drawn in, the world consumes every motion or flicker of intelligence. Watch the ones you love enter the dynamic process of whatever great green moment we reach out to. This isn't a story, per se, but a relation. An account of first days. "The sun went down," K said. "And it comes up too."
Posted by Dale at April 21, 2004 01:42 PM