Tonight I’m pushing everyone away. I did it all day but tonight I’m vicious
about it. I’m camped out by my favorite window and no amount of harmonica playing, rattle
of dishes, laughter of voices from other rooms deep in this house can draw me
out. The fading light is what I really crave. Cars with their headlights just
coming on. Owls testing the fields. This mean streak slowly fades as the real
black night rolls in.
I
always get weird around Indian Summer. I’ve noticed this before. My whole
organism feels tricked. Just as the body starts to fall in love with flying
golden Poplar leaves. The smell of burning Madrone. The wild lure of Fall gets
cut to the bone by Indian Summer.
I
don’t want to be walking around peeling my shirt off these days. I want deep
layers of Canadian blankets and fire. Red eye and fire. And dogs. And cold cold
nights.
Santa
Rosa, Ca.
22/9/80
from "Motel Chronicles"
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