...and so, right in the pleasure of our star blue and sun-shot yellow bedroom, snow dumping with certain April vengeance beyond the skylight, Hic...cup..cupping streams of cyber transmission prompt me to scuff step slide and twirl on the little fuzzy black rug. I'm jazz dancing to my dearest of Saturday's joy.
I hear stories and laughter and the blackest surprise of wonders from inside that coffin too soon. What? No memories with which to wait out eternity?! Fruitless and forlorn we endure and persevere...ya daddy, ya daddy, ya daddy, Ya!
In two hours, damn, so terribly short, I'm reminded of just what matters most. There's a voice purring far away, one who knows we exist, and in that brief time spent I'm included again.
My dear old pal is nearby on the bed tucked up and snoozing and planning his autumnal retirement trip. Winter was long for him, keeping those home fires burning. A '75 BMW, R90 of superior German make, awaits his command Southward. He'll ride off into the sunset. There, there may be new memories for him to gather.
I'm left thinking of red velvet and Town Hall, zuchinni, rhubarb and smoking wild caught sockeye brought in when the Chilkat drops off from summer's crest. My campfire in the strawberry patch competes with lavender midnight, twilight not quite starlight.
Kottke's playing the Deep River Blues and while our own Klehini hides, impossible now to see past warm dumping whiteness, I wonder about bifurcation and joining The Chattaqua.
Hola! Just as Mayberry resumes around the corner, I watch Raven elegantly perch. A newborn spindle legged black lamb dashs across the whiteness. There's two in every family, sometimes more.
(she hopes to win tonight's snow pool to donate to a larger GK cause)
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