rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


The stores were still there inhabiting this perfectly lovely day, and I walked through them and bought things and took them back out into the day to take them home where they now wait on shelves until I use them. The streets I use to get to and from the stores were still there, and cars were on them, and I and the people in the cars moved through the perfectly lovely day going places we'd decided we needed or wanted to be, and the day willessly let us inhabit it.

So full of things. Trees and houses and cars, sunlight and breeze and scents from the blooming flowers and the car exhausts and the young leaves and the gray asphalt over which tires rumbled. And sounds. Engines and birds and barking dogs, talk and music, and the leaves rustling to give the breezes a voice. Sometimes the traffic sounds like surf, especially when it blends with wind.

So the perfectly lovely day, indifferent to our coming and going, vibrated on the edge of my thoughts, enveloping them, transforming mundane tasks into arcane rituals fraught with meaning. The warmth and the sunlight and the trees that filtered them took their places in the back of my mind, and shadows shrank and then lengthened, and everything was still there even when I was attending to something else. So the perfectly lovely day edged into my memory and inhabited it, and communed with the other days already there.

For it I've added a room made of words to the house. It couldn't care less. The room is really for me.

Sunday Verse

April Morning Walk

by Brian Patten

So many of those girls I loved are gone now,
Gone to ash that skin so inexpertly kissed,
Those stomachs I was hot for, gone beyond diaries into flame.
When the years tore up our surface beauty and threw it away
Like the bright wrappings on a parcel
What was left was what links all the breathing world, an empathy,
The buried knowledge of our going.
It's so easy to forget how the years have poured away
And taken out of sequence and before their time
So many who deserved to stay longer on this lush earth.
Along the streets in which I walked with them
The horse chestnut leaves are opening like Chinese fans
The dawn's clear light varnishes houses and gardens
And freezes forever under its glittering surface
So much half-remembered anguish.


  • Reset Twenty-Two, Day Seven

    The sky seemed an oddly deep shade of blue Tuesday afternoon, and free of both smoke and clouds, but as I looked at it longer something seemed a bit…

  • Reset Twenty-Two, Day Six

    Monday brought more sleep, this time from about one o'clock in the afternoon until just after six in the evening. The one advantage of that was that…

  • Reset Twenty-Two, Day Five

    The sleep schedule weirdness is continuing. Sunday I woke up around two o'clock in the afternoon after sleeping almost eight hours, but when ten…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.