the best cup of oolong

i would like to write about the hip-high snow banks. the funeral of a great man that i never knew. a story of him, up on a hill overlooking istanbul, a scooter carrying all that he owned. post photos from the trip to california which were neglected. write of having tea with my wife a few days ago, the best cup of oolong i've had in some time. so many other things. the act of running with snowshoes. shoveling the car out. dancing on a busy streetcorner, to the slowest of music.

but christmas is nearly here. there is a turkey to deal with, and family on the way. there are memories of this time a year ago, and there are lights casting a water-like reflection on the snow. there is a fire. there is a cat by my side on the couch. there is mulled wine. bread and cheese. the second christmas in the snow for this california boy. i shouldn't rush my words like this. they should fall out like streams not oceans. they should have more meaning than the rushing of fingers. they should be less scattered.

and they will. tomorrow perhaps.

"how the clock moves on, relentlessly,
with such assurance that it eats the years.
the days are small and transitory grapes,
the months grow faded, taken out of time.

it fades, it falls aways, the moment, fired
by that implacable artillery~
and suddenly, only a year is left to us,
a month, a day, and death turns up in the diary." ~Neruda

{for the man who is gone}

Posted by jeff pitcher at December 24, 2004 03:10 PM

....................................