Morning Old Boy

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Home Again

After a long and arduous trip on the road, I'm back. Boulder is bright, life is new and I return, to call home, a 1979 RV, by Ford's motor company.

About a mobile home, I had my reservations. The bull of my moon wished for stabler pastures, and yet I have found them. From Hygene a wonderful woman named Shirl hailed back about my Craigslist posting: "Quiet young man seeks 23' ft to park his RV on. $200/mo."

When last I had my own home, it was on a farm, out that same piece of 36 that winds along the golden Front Range, toward Lyons. 15 minutes to the coffee shop now, it is good to be back on land, with quadrapeds. On the farm my neighbors were three loquacious cows and a black stallion, once a race horse. A piece apart, on the way to the front fence were two goats, bleating always, their cries for willow branch, when it was in season. We did not know why they loved it best, but it was supposed that it was for its analgesic property, and I always cut a switch or two for them, when not in a rush to the car. I loved their rectangle eyes.

I'm throwing up some photos from Seattle in the summer. This was my best remembered piece of the travel, the rest being tribulation and better left un-kept by these annals.

Two friends of mine, from back in the days of high school, before we had cars and we walked all over the suburbs, slow and lazy, like kings, now live in the big city, working at Sipp Wine Bar, downtown on Madison.
Its a great little black bar, full of shimmering.
Even on a dreary day, the aperitifs are good and the leggings tasteful.
This sunny day, before the 4th of July, was no day for black leggings, however and the good people of Sipp gathered on a bright roof top.

Monday, June 7, 2010

We went to the sand dunes today. The first storm arrived as we left, from eating, under the shade of the thick cherry tree, at the cafe where I work. No rain before today in these mountains. The hail began and the thunder and lightning, on the barren sand, an our away, where we were bare foot, and he told me it was easy to get struck by lightening,
'because theres nothing else standing out?' I asked, against the darkening sky,
'because the electricity spreads out through the grains of sand so much, its more likely to find your feet.' That was right: it came from the earth first.
We left, wet and running and went to Alamosa, which was sunny and hot, across the valley, for a beer. His friend from several years back was with us and she ran and got wet and drank beer too and we all got to know each other better.
'The day started leading a meditation and now were watching Prince of Persia.' he said. We had sworn not to miss the previews and still got in late, as the little boy ran across roof tops.
'Yeah, its so perfect we went to the sand dunes today,' I agreed with his appreciation of the bizareness of life. Perhaps he had said that while we were drinking beer. I can't recall the context specific, but only remember his face, smiling and the sense of camaraderie.