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.
from "Motel Chronicles"