etchings on glass

A new song called “they will see me rising up,” which is not yet about anything in particular, though I am in love with the chorus. In love.

A beaver, swimming across a lake in the dark, its tail thudding the water like the dropping of a two by four {though the beaver is somehow delicate.} It leaves a faint trail in the water; etchings on glass.

Mist, rising off that same lake in the morning, beneath a full moon. The sky pink off to the left with the sun, I move my head in dismay at the arresting wonder of the earth. it is magical beyond belief. The perfect scene from the perfect film. feet crunching the frost. The limited movement of cold hands. The restless geese. As the beaver glides the water in the morning, with the sun rising, he seems to float upon the mist, as though the properties of mass and volume no longer exist. He is a boat, soaring on an enchanted sea. There should be angels and fairies out here. Lights twinkling in the trees. This is Canada…the one that I had imagined.

An email from an old friend, that causes me to research a. dead Italian poet

A new comb for my face, as I have again ceased shaving. {notice the small print, it made me laugh}

There is a difference between growing a beard, and the cessation of shaving. Psychologically and physically, a big difference. The fact that I don’t “need” a razor for the time being means something. If there has ever been the perfect winter for me to put in a true beard growing effort, this Canadian-snowcountry-winter is it. Yes indeed. The main problem being the great level of discomfort, which if you know me well have certainly heard me complain of during past {mostly failed} attempts. Though many say the itching will go away, it does not. I’ve waited nearly two months in the past with no solace. Also, my facial growth is rather sparse, thusly leaving me with a somewhat pubic looking beard. Alas.

And so I bathe, and I itch. Simple.

Today, we go to Toronto. A city full of people. Watercolor paper. Photography store. Peat moss. Plant hanger. Wine. Blank cds. A trip to the American embassy. Passport photos before the beard takes over. Hard to believe that it was ten years ago I renewed that passport for a trip to Spain. Where has the time gone? {perhaps the greatest unanswered question of all time. Pun intended}

Posted by jeff pitcher at October 1, 2004 09:03 AM

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